The Year that Might Have Been
by Kelenloth
Summary: "I'm… sorry…" He moaned for the billionth time – an inaudible whisper. His throat had been torn to the point of uselessness by his own terrible screams. - A re-telling of the Year that Never Was in which the Doctor is never aged. Doctor-whump, NON-slash.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: First, I must apologize for the length of this note. Moving on, I feel the need to explain this story to you. A friend of mine, the wonderful Lindelas, was unhappy with Old!Doctor from The Sound of Drums and The Last of the Time Lords. We both thought that the Doctor could have been subdued just as easily by other means. SO this story is the result of that – It is in alternate version of the "year that never was". It is a divergent path, but it does not change the ultimate end of the episode, so it does not end up creating a true alternate universe. All that to say – Because this begins and ends within the episodes themselves, I STRONGLY suggest you go re-watch these two episodes before reading if you get a chance, as the story begins and ends quite suddenly. There are 25 chapters, and I shall be posting a new one every few days. This story should be around 49,000 words long when it is completely posted.

Next I have to say this: This is NOT a slash fic. NO Doctor/Master here. I do not think that the Doctor has any romantic or sexual relations with the Master, nor do I think him at all homosexual. (If you don't like that, don't read it.) The Master, on the other hand, is rather fond of, well… making the Doctor uncomfortable. So you may have to excuse some action on his part. However, this story is rated for violence and general angst, not for any other reason.

EDIT: I've decided to change this story to a "T" rating instead of M, but if you think I should bump it back up after reading a few chapters, please tell me! But after looking over some other "M" materials, I don't think that this belongs with them.

I think that's all that needs to be said – you all know that Doctor Who belongs to the BBC. In this case a good bit of the dialogue is straight from the episodes as well. Now on with the show!

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><p>"Let him go."<p>

"_Gaah_!" The Doctor was shoved face first into the floor. "It's that sound." He pushed himself back up and urgently addressed the Master on his knees. He had two minutes to stop this. "The sound in your head – what if I could help?" He offered. It was not an empty, desperate cry or a deception. All he wanted was to help. The Master was the only other Time Lord left, and he would do whatever he could to keep him safe, including save him from himself. But this plot needed to stop. If only the Master would listen!

"Ooh, how to shut him up?" The Master mocked, miming a babbling puppet with his hand. A dark smile came over his face. "In know…" in a flash, he pulled out his laser screwdriver again, reached forward, and grabbed the Doctor's head.

"Master!-" The Doctor tried to stop him. The Master shoved the end of his laser device into the Doctor's mouth and activated it. Agony laced through every fiber of the Doctor's being as a stream of golden fire ripped down his throat, burning and tearing his windpipe and vocal chords. The Master grinned as he held him there a moment longer, as the Doctor struggled to even cry out in pain. He had dialed it down and made sure that nothing he did would kill the Doctor. He could not have that. But what was to stop him from having a little fun? This had been far too long in coming.

When the Master finally let go, the Doctor fell to the ground gasping and wheezing for breath. The Master laughed as the other Time Lord desperately sucked in air, grasping his throat in vain. Nothing could make the fiery pain stop. "M…Mast…" The Doctor choked, trying to push himself off the ground.

"Ha!" The Master cheered. Stepping back to where the 'freak' lay 'dead' on the ground with the girl beside him, he aimed his screwdriver at the Doctor again, sending another stream of torturous energy straight into his chest.

The Doctor tried to scream but no sound escaped his lips. Fire burned through every cell of his body as if each of them was about to explode. His muscles locked and his vision flashed as pure, excruciating pain washed over him.

On the ground beside him Captain Jack Harkness lurched back into life just in time to witness the brutal assault. "Teleport." He ordered quietly, grabbing Martha's hands and shoving his vortex manipulator into her grasp. "We can't stop him." Jack's breath came in heavy pants. "Get out of here." He whispered desperately. "Get out." He did his best to smile, falling to the ground again.

When he was released a second time the Doctor collapsed motionless to the floor. "Doctor." Martha called to him, coming at once to his side. She quickly checked for his pulse, laying a gentle hand under his jaw. "I've got you." She whispered, tears filling her eyes. The Doctor's skin was hot and his pulse was erratic and weak. His breath came in shaky, labored gasps.

"Aww, she's a would-be doctor." The Master taunted. "But tonight Martha Jones-" He drew her attention away, "We've flown 'em in! All the way from prison!" He motioned excitedly towards the door, which opened to admit several guards. They shoved Francine, Clive, and Tish Jones with them, bound and at gunpoint.

Martha stood slowly and sadly to her feet. She had tried to stop this. "Mum…" She whispered.

"I'm sorry." Her mother sobbed. Martha bit her lip. This could not be happening.

"Th... The" The Doctor choked out from the ground beneath her, pushing himself up to his hands and knees. The Master returned his attention to the helpless man. "The Toclafane." He finally said, using every ounce of his will power. "Wh-what… what are they?" He begged of the Master.

The Master faked a look of pity, squatting down to the Doctor's level. He motioned to his ear in question, mocking the other's inability to speak clearly.

"Who are they?" The Doctor changed his question, worry growing in his mind. Those things were alive.

"Doctor." The Master addressed him seriously. "If I told you the truth," he placed his hand on the Doctor's chest and found eye contact with him. "Your hearts would break."

The Doctor stared into the Master's eyes in question when at his words he realized with a shock that maybe he really did not want to know. Fear grew inside him unlike any he had felt before. There was nothing that he would hold past the Master's depravity.

"Is it time?" The Toclafane interrupted them. "Is it ready?" one of them asked in an all too human voice.

"Is the machine singing?" Another of them echoed.

The Master stood and checked his watch. "Two minutes past." He told them.

"No…" The Doctor muttered as the Master climbed back up the stairs at the front of the room.

"So!" He addressed the camera that broadcast live to the world. "Earthlings." He addressed them with a smile. "Basically, um… End of the world." He raised his laser screwdriver high above his head. "HERE. COME. THE DRUMS!"

"_Here come the drums, here come the drums"_ Music began to play at his words, its all-too-happy beat only serving as one more insult to the captives aboard.

"GAH!" The Doctor cried out in honest, doubling over in pain and grabbing his head. He could hear her. She was screaming. His TARDIS. His beloved ship and most constant companion. What had he done to her? Even from here he could feel her crying out in agony as the Paradox Machine was activated. He looked up to where the Master danced happily by the window. He knew that the other Time Lord could hear it too, but paid no attention.

_Doctor._ The TARDIS cried. _Help!_ _Doctor!_ She screamed though his mental link. He could do nothing to save her. As the sky above them cracked open the Doctor felt like his own head might have been cracking open as well.

"I'm sorry…" He muttered, trying to use his telepathic link to do what he could for the ship. "I'm so sorry."

The Master flew back up the stairs and looked down at the Doctor again. He knew exactly what the other Time Lord was going through. He could hear it. But he did not care. He blew the Doctor a kiss of mock-pity, then turned back to celebrate his victory.

"How many, do you think?" He brought Lucy, his wife, to the window.

"I…I don't know." She gasped, placing a hand on her husband's chest and looking over the masses of alien spheres raining down on the earth in wonder.

"Six billion." He answered proudly, flicking the music off. "Down you go, kids!" he yelled happily as his unstoppable army descended upon the earth.

"Shall we decimate them?" He turned to his wife in a seductive whisper. "That sounds good. Nice word. Decimate." He repeated. She smiled up at him as if he was the only thing worth adoring in the universe.

"Remove on tenth of the population." The Master ordered in a loud, clear voice that was projected out to his army.

Tears filled the Doctor's eyes. One tenth of the population: Millions of people, all dead because he could not stop the Master. His mind worked furiously to try and piece together any reasonable response. This would not be quick and it would not be easy. They had a war in front of them.

He pulled Martha close and desperately whispered in her ear. "The network." He whispered, "Use it – tell them. Tell everyone about me – tell them who I am. Tell them to think of me instead of the Master. I can use the physic energy to stop him. You've got to tell them all." His voice was fast and desperate. "Use the countdown. All of them together, it will work. It's all down to you. Please." His last word was nothing short of begging: Begging Martha for help, and begging that his plan might work.

Tears ran freely down Martha's face as she committed each of the Doctor's words to memory and realized that she might never see him again. She nodded, grateful that he had a plan. She would do whatever it took to stop the Master.

"Martha." The Doctor said at last. "Thank you." He grabbed her hand and held it tightly. "Now go."

"Valiant this is Geneva, we're getting slaughtered down here! Valiant report!" - "This is London, Valiant this is London calling, what do we do? They're killing us! The Toclafane are killing us!" Reports poured in from every corner of the globe as the whole world cried out in one voice in every language, desperate for help. Martha knew they needed the Doctor. As she stood to her feet she knew that only she could bring him to them. The Doctor was their only hope. And she was his only messenger.

She looked around the room sadly once more, silently wishing a final goodbye to her family, to Jack, and to the Doctor. Holding the vortex manipulator tightly in her hands, she closed her eyes and teleported away to the earth's surface.

The Doctor looked to Jack Harkness. They on their own now: Prisoners of war. It scared him to think of what form of hell the Master would put Jack through; the man who could not die. He was so sorry that all of this had happened. But he was even more sorry for what was still to come.

As he looked back to the Master pure hatred rose in his hearts. No. He had to banish that. That was not what was needed to fix this. But he could not help feeling more disgusted, outraged, and heartbroken than had ever felt before.

"Come on." The Master came down and grabbed the Doctor by his arm, forcing him to stand and dragging him to the window. Lucy grabbed his other arm and the Doctor was forced to observe the annihilation and massacre below. He had done so much for planet Earth and its people. Now he could do nothing but watch them burn. This was not supposed to happen.

"And so it came to pass that he human race fell. And the earth was no more." The Master said proudly, as if writing his own history book or Bible. "And I looked down upon my new dominion as Master of all. And I thought it… Good." He smiled, convinced that he himself was a god. Lucy, for one, was convinced of it. The Doctor could only look down in fear and disdain and pray that the world would live and triumph in the end. It seemed impossible now. Hope had been banished, it seemed, forever.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: I had been planning on updating every Monday, but that is WAY too long of a wait. New schedule plan is twice a week, probably Sunday nights and Friday mornings. Thanks for reading!

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><p>"Now…" The Master grabbed the Doctor's arm and pulled him away from the window before shoving him down the stairs. He nodded to his guards who at once took hold of the Doctor, raised Jack off the floor, and held both at gunpoint. Martha's family was brought forward and all were presented to their new Lord and Master.<p>

"What to do with _you_?" The Master considered, rubbing his chin. "Put those three in the holding cell." He waved Martha's parents and sister off. "I'll deal with them later. Maybe they can be my new staff." He laughed as they were escorted out the door. "But this one is too dangerous to be left on his own." He turned next to Jack.

Harkness glared up at the Master, his fists tightening. His normal sly smile was gone but he would not deny that he enjoyed that the Master feared him at least enough to warn his men.

"Bind him. Lock him up. Post a guard." The Master ordered. "But first…" He drew his laser screwdriver, aimed, and fired in a flash, knocking Captain Jack to the floor once more. "Haha!" He cheered as the impossible man died again. This would be fun. "Call me when he wakes up." He waved his men away and they dragged Jack's body out of the room.

"Now you." The Master put away his toy and strode down to the Doctor's level. "What to do with… you." He approached his captive, placing his face inches from The Doctor's own.

The Doctor did not respond but merely stared the Master in the eye. He did not struggle against his captors and his face was stoic. He did not know what the Master planned to do to him, but he determined now that he would withstand it. The earth needed him. He had promised Martha that his plan would work. He could not let it be discovered and he could not fail. Whatever the cost.

"Follow me." The Master ordered bluntly and the guards turned and obeyed, taking the Doctor out of the room.

He walked with little resistance down the hallway, but the two guards holding him seemed determined to leave bruises on his arms all the same. He could tell that they were deathly afraid. They whisked him quickly down the dark yellow and purple halls after their Master, who seemed to be practically dancing the entire way. Several hallways, a few turns, and a staircase later the Doctor once more laid eyes on his beloved TARDIS.

He could still hear her cries for help and still feel her pain. It was not as intense as before, but each and every human that the Toclafane killed was a paradox, and the unnatural machinery that marred her beautiful console tore deeper and deeper into the matrix with time, feeding off the heart of the TARDIS itself.

The Master pushed open the doors dramatically and the guards shoved The Doctor into the Paradox Machine and stood alert in the entry, guns armed.

A fiery red light haunted the walls, casting eerie shadows of the monstrosity before him. Every single alarm was going off at once and the cloister bell sounded ominously over and over as the TARDIS cried out in the only way she could.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" The Master turned around with a smile and held his arms out wide. "My masterpiece!"

The Doctor's hearts clenched at the words, and it took everything in him to keep from throttling the Master with his bare hands; guards or no guards. "It's hideous!" he shouted as loud as his still aching throat would allow. He took a step towards the Master.

"Ah-ah." The other Time Lord stopped him with a single wave of his finger as both of the guards at once pointed their weapons at the Doctor and prepared to fire. "Cuff him." The Master instructed them, turning to the mechanized console he had installed and flipping a switch. A pair of manacles dropped from the ceiling from where the Master had fastened them. It seemed that he had prepared for the Doctor's coming.

In a moment the Doctor was stripped of his overcoat and restrained with his hands chained above his head, his wrists touching.

"Now then." The Master smiled as he ordered the guards to stand outside the door. "What were you saying?"

"What have you done?" The Doctor asked gravely. His voice was returning but he was at a loss for words.

"Think about it." The Master answered. "A living TARDIS. Strong enough to hold the paradox in place; allowing the past and the future to collide in infinite majesty."

"But you're changing history!" The Doctor shouted, pulling against his chains. "Not just earth, the entire universe!"

"I'm a Time Lord." The Master said boldly. "I have that right." He asserted, his face inches from the Doctor's. "You of all people should know _that_."

With his words the Master drew a knife from his pocket and flipped it open. "You of all people…" He repeated dangerously, placing the knife calmly against the side of the Doctor's face with his right hand. He loosened his prisoner's tie and unbuttoned his suit jacket with his left. "You, the Oncoming Storm, _the Destroyer of Worlds_." He reached up and opened the top button of the Doctor's shirt. "You of all people should know."

The Doctor clenched his teeth and breathed in sharply as the Masters words pierced him.

"Because _you_ are the reason all of this is happening. It's _your_ fault!" The Master's voice grew more fervent as he undid another of the Doctor's shirt buttons. "Who was it that destroyed their homeland, huh? Who was it?" He asked, his voice growing more fervent and mad with every word. "Who was it that committed _genocide_ against his own people?" He shouted angrily, pressing the knife harder into the Doctor's cheek and creating a thin crimson line on his face. "Who was it that _destroyed_ Gallifrey? _Who was it!"_ He yelled in the Doctor's ear as he undid the final button on his shirt. "Me?" He asked. "Me, the Master – your great enemy, or what have you? No." His tone lowered dangerously as he removed his knife from the Doctor's face and took a step back. "No…It was you." He said. "And you alone. The last Time Lord." Taking his knife, with one violent swipe, he left a deep red slash on the Doctor's side, just under his seventh rib. He smiled as bright red blood spilled out of the wound.

The Doctor let out a short cry at the assault and tried to curl in on himself but it was in vain. However the Master's words troubled him far more than any knife ever could. Not because of false accusation, but because everything he said was true. Something in the back of the Doctor's mind whispered that he deserved this.

"_You_! The wonderful Doctor!" The Master spat out his name. "You who saved the earth too many times to count, yet you _destroyed_ your own _planet_!" He shouted, striking out and leaving an identical mark on the Doctor's other side. "All of those people – those friends of yours. What would they think of you if they saw what you _really_ are?" With another flick of his wrist, the Doctor bore another red line, just under another of his ribs. "A traitor. A murderer…A monster." The Master whispered, driving his knife in three more times, this time with slow, purposeful enjoyment as he emphasized each word.

Tears formed and fell from the Doctor's eyes from far more than the physical pain. His body jerked away and flinched at every strike, but his mind barely registered the touch of the blade to his skin. "Please." He begged, clenching his teeth in pain. "Let me explain!"

"NO!" Came the angry reply, accompanied by another swift cut of the Master's knife. "No, the time for that is long past." He lowered his voice back to a dangerous whisper. "I read your files. I know exactly what you did. You killed them. All of them, Doctor! **ALL** of them!" Soon the Doctor bore several more scarlet lines, outlining his ribs so that they stretched painfully as he sagged in his bonds. But they were the least of his anguish.

"So how does it feel?" The Master asked, grabbing his captive's chin and forcing the Doctor to make eye contact with him. "How does it feel to know that you destroyed the most powerful race in history – your own people?" He placed a hand on the Doctor's bare and bleeding side with a sickening smile, his eyes gleaming with the dark and dangerous spark of insanity. "Does it feel good?" He whispered, his words dripping with seductive pleasure.

The Doctor squirmed under his captor's touch and tried not to look him in the eye. But as his questions continued, the Doctor could no longer avoid them.

"Answer me." The Master demanded, pressing his blade one last time into the Doctor's side to finish mirroring the wounds on his right side. "Does it feel…good?" He rested his forehead against his captive's and placed a bloodied hand on his bare chest.

The Doctor lifted his eyes to meet the Master's at last. "No." He said solemnly. Tears stained his cheeks and his eyes betrayed the sorrow of his bare and broken nine-hundred year old soul. "No…" His voice cracked as he whispered again, closing his eyes. "I… I had to."

"HA!" The Master jumped away and slapped the Doctor across the face with such sudden force that lights danced in the Doctor's blurred vision. "I don't think so." He said loudly, holding his bloodied knife again at the Doctor's face, this time at arm's length with its tip resting on his captive's chin. "They say our _choices_ define us, Doctor. You made a choice. But now it's my turn. I've made my choice. And as Master of all I shall make war in the heavens and a New Gallifrey shall rise!" He shouted at the top of his lungs.

"You, on the other hand," He lowered his voice once more, flipping his knife closed without bothering to wipe it clean. "Will go on living forever in the knowledge that when it mattered most – You failed." He said solemnly. "So you tell me. How could any of this-" He gestured around the room, signifying all he had done. "Be worse than that? How could the destruction of one puny race of earthlings – those pathetic apes - mean _anything_ the face of the Last Great Time War?" He asked. The Doctor had no answer. "How could I _ever_ be worse than _you_?"

"Goodnight, Doctor." The Master added before walking out of the room and leaving the Doctor behind, still shackled and bleeding, to hang in his own misery for the night.


	3. Chapter 3

Tears streamed freely down the Doctor's face. There was nothing he could ever say and nothing he could ever do to right his wrong. The Master was right: Gallifrey, his home – a citadel so ancient and glorious that it outshone the stars - had perished in a ball of flame, and it was all his fault. He alone had pulled the trigger. It was with a different face and more than a lifetime ago, but it was still him. He still remembered every moment, every emotion, and every scream.

What he had told the Master was not entirely true. He did not _have_ to do it – he knew that. He had made a choice. For the sake of all of creation, he had ended it. He had tried so hard – tried everything - to stop it. To stop _them_. But in the end there was nothing he could do. It was the Time Lords or the universe itself. And he had taken a stand. Against his family, against his home, against everything the Time Lords had become. He had stopped it. And now he was alone. And the only other Time Lord in existence hated him for it.

The terrible image of his burning home world was forever etched into the Doctor's mind. Sometimes he wanted to forget it all. But he knew that he never could. The Master was right about one thing; people are defined by their choices. The Doctor had chosen to sacrifice Gallifrey in order to save the world, because he was the only one that could. Or perhaps just the only one that would. He could only hope that one day he might be able to live with that fact.

The Doctor knew he could never redeem himself from what he had done, but perhaps he did not need to. In the Master he could see embodied everything that the Time Lords were: The pride, the power, and the disregard for all other 'lesser' forms of life. They could have saved so many, but they never did. So it fell to him – the renegade; the runaway who defied the law to save millions of lives that were otherwise condemned. On the last day of the Great Time War he had wondered: What was it that separated the Time Lords from the Dalek after all? By the time he ended it the same willingness to destroy all others no matter the cost was embodied equally in both.

He told himself that he would have done it all over again if the choice had been the same. But he would fight with everything in him to make sure that he never had to make that choice again. Now the Master had returned; an image of that same pride, power, and destruction. He was the last remnant of Gallifrey; the last vestige of the Time War that the Doctor had fought so hard to end. But this time would be different. He would not pull the trigger this time. He had to stop the Master, but more than that - he had to save him. He had to save the Master from himself. He could not lose the last of his kind again. He did not want to be alone.

All the same, if there was one thing that the Master had been wrong about it was this: If he thought that just because the Doctor had committed that one terrible act so long ago that he would now step aside the let the Master commit another, he was mistaken. Because if there was one thing that the destruction of Gallifrey had taught him it was that life is precious. And he would not stand idly by while another world was destroyed. Not this time. Not here, not now. Not on earth.

This planet was amazing; its people even more so. They were amazing because he knew what they could do. He knew the greatest heights to which they would strive and the lowest depths to which they would fall. But they could not see it. They lived their normal lives on their humble little planet, day in and day out. One day they would roam the starts, but they would never own them. They were explorers with a practically endless thirst for discovery and a true enjoyment of the best things in life. They were defined by their perseverance and they held true value to life and honor and sacrifice and love and beauty. They were not Time Lords, and that is what made them brilliant. Humans were not perfect by any means - he constantly chided and rebuked them - but then again, neither was he.

The Doctor had struggled long and hard to overcome the guilt of his actions in the Time War. But then he had gone back to Earth and named it his new home. Then he found her: Rose. She was everything that he loved about the human race; adventurous, compassionate, and open-minded, with a never-ending thirst to be amazed. When he was with Rose she had made it all better. Being with her reminded him that maybe – just maybe – it had all been worth it. Maybe there was more to this world that he had saved than just hate and evil and war. There was love, and hope, and wonder. That was what she was to him, and that is what the human race was. He had lost her. But he would not lose them.

This little planet of 'pathetic apes' had adopted him – or very nearly – as their own. He was their guardian and their protector. 'This World's Champion' he had been called on the first day of his new life. And that was what he was. He was the Doctor. And he would not see this world fall.

With this thought the Doctor's mind returned to saving the planet and its populace. He remembered what he had told Martha about using the power of the whole human race through the Archangel network. He did not know how long it would take, but he had to try and link himself to the psychic matrix. If he could integrate himself into the telepathic field he could use it to set them free. Even chained as he was, the Doctor was more than helpless. But after such a mental lashing, not to mention a physical one, this would be a lot harder than he had first thought.

The ever-present ringing of the TARDIS' desperate alarms still filled his ears, and the incessant tolling of the cloister bell sounded ominously, growing more and more like the sound of a final knell.

"Ooh…" The Doctor spoke out loud, but communicated even more strongly through his telepathic link to his ship. "What has the mean old Master done to you?" He asked in sympathy. He could feel her response; an emotion of pure pain, both physical and mental. The TARDIS wanted to be able to help the Doctor just as much as he wanted to be able to help her. She could feel each drop of his spilt blood as it fell to the floor.

'_Shh. I'm here.' _He mentally whispered. '_I'm going to fix this. I promise_.' A warm feeling of hope and trust emanated from the ship in response.

Sagging in his bonds, the Doctor shifted his weight between his tired feet and his painfully shackled hands, trying not to stretch the fresh red wounds that now decorated his ribcage. If only he could get to his sonic screwdriver, this would all be fixed. But it was still in the pocket of his overcoat, which had been tossed several yards away by the guards. Sighing heavily, he resigned himself to his chains.

'_I'm sorry, old girl. I'm so sorry_.' The Doctor closed his eyes and concentrated on communicating with his beloved TARDIS, trying to break through the unnatural walls and barriers that the Master had constructed around her. The further he pushed his mind the more he felt the ship's pain. Unnatural fire burned in its heart, defiling the pure and ancient essence that brought it life. Bound just as much as the Doctor was and hurting even more, the TARDIS struggled vainly against the Master's terrible devices.

The Doctor felt awful for allowing this to happen. Because it was all his fault. He had opened her door and let the Master walk right in. How could he have been so blind? When he had locked the coordinates he never thought that it might lead to this. He still remembered hearing her call out to him as the Master forced her to leave him behind at the end of the universe. It had nearly broken his hearts.

The bond between a Time Lord and his TARDIS was always symbiotic at a deep telepathic level, but as the last of both of their kinds the Doctor and his TARDIS shared an even deeper bond. It was true, she was not originally his. He had borrowed her – stolen, really, and saved her from being destroyed and replaced with a supposedly 'better' model. But to this day, he could swear that it was not just he that had chosen her, she had indeed chosen him. She was his TARDIS, and he was her Doctor.

If the Master had thought to torture them both by locking them up together, he had actually done a pretty good job at it. But it was still his mistake. He had underestimated the two's bond, and the Doctor would use it to his greatest advantage. Even in its tortured state, the TARDIS stove only to help her Doctor, and at the moment he was mentally entrusting his plans to her. The Archangel network, now that he was aware of it, would become his greatest and only hope of victory, and the TARDIS would help him reach it.

The Master may have intended for the TARDIS' psychic presence and pain to be torturous to the Doctor, and in truth it was, but it could also help him amplify his own power to penetrate the larger network that surrounded the globe. Even now, their two minds worked as one to sense and analyze the hidden telepathic field.

The Doctor knew that he had to be careful. He was not the only Time Lord any more, and his rival would sense his mental efforts if he was not careful to hide them. He would take it slowly and try his best to cover his trail. But he did not know how long he had. He had given Martha a message to the world. Now he could only pray that she succeeded. If anything happened to her, he needed to be ready. But the earth was a large and populace place. The mission he had given her was not a simple or an easy one – in fact it would be the hardest, most painful thing she had ever done, and hopefully would ever have to do. But he believed she could do it. Neither of them would be detected. And upon her return, he would be ready.


	4. Chapter 4

The Doctor's chin rested against his bare chest, his head leaning awkwardly against his painfully raised arms. His skin was hot and clammy from the warm humid air that filled the Paradox Machine, evidence of the fire burning through the TARDIS' tortured heart. A thin layer of sweat glimmered on his bare abdomen, stinging his wounds. The red marks that outlined his ribcage had stopped bleeding but they still pained him terribly as he sagged forward in his bonds. Both of his shoulders felt out of socket and his aching arms rebelled against the load of his own weight. His hands had become numb and his wrists were rubbed raw. He had tried to continue shifting his weight around, but as he switched his focus to the TARDIS and the Archangel Network his own physical state had fallen by the wayside.

His eyes were closed but he had not slept at all. There was neither night nor day aboard the TARDIS, only the ceaseless cries of the ships' urgent alarms. As such, he could not tell how long it had been since the Master left him, be it hours or days. He had not given the question much thought, but his answer came all too soon.

"Doctor!" The Master called cheerfully as he threw open the TARDIS doors. The Doctor could not see him immediately, as he was positioned to face the TARDIS console. He felt the Master's hand lightly touch his shoulder as the other Time Lord walked around his miserable form. His fingers next trailed down the Doctor's jaw, slipping under his chin and lifting his face up. "Sleep well?" He asked as if being polite, before immediately adding "Good." without waiting for a response.

The Doctor looked up at the Master from under his brow and did not bother to utter a word in reply.

"I was thinking last night after I left…" The Master continued, dropping the Doctor's chin. His hands next moved to thoughtfully trace the fiery red wounds that he had left on the Doctor's torso, his fingers lightly running over the inflamed and bloodstained flesh. He smiled as he felt the Doctor stiffen uncomfortably at his touch. "…That I should answer a few of your questions." The Master finished at last, looking once more into the Doctor's eyes.

The Doctor's brow furrowed, curious as to what questions would be answered. He liked questions, and he liked answers. But he did not like the tone of where this was going.

"First things first." The Master laughed, turning suddenly and walking over to flip a switch he had installed on the wall. The Doctor's shackles released him and he fell forward with a lurch, scrambling to catch himself. His arms screamed in protest at the sudden recovery of motion and the Doctor fell to the ground on his hands and knees, wracking his torn ribs painfully.

Before he could rise two of the Master's guards entered and grabbed him by the shoulders, lifting him roughly to his feet between them. He tried to stretch and bend his arms, neck, and back in an attempt to recover from his overnight constraints but it did little to aid him. And his bondage would only get worse.

"Strip him." The Master said flatly with a cruel smile.

"_What_!" the Doctor's brow wrinkled in sudden alarm. The Master laughed in twisted joy as his guards roughly removed the Doctor's already open suit jacket and shirt, took off his tie, and ripped off his shoes and socks before forcing him to remove his trousers. Soon the Doctor stood with only his blue boxers to protect him from whatever tortures the Master had in store.

"Oh, that's more like it." The Master said in a tone that rose fear in the Doctor's hearts. "Chain him back up." He instructed next, adjusting the controls he had triggered earlier and moving the Doctor's restraints apart. This time his arms were suspended out to the sides, placing less weight on them but leaving him even more exposed. He was in part grateful for the change in posture, but equally troubled by his change in attire.

"I would be careful if I were you, Doctor." The Master warned, coming once more to the Doctor's side. "As a Time Lord, I know _exactly_ how much your body can take without regenerating." He threatened darkly, laying a hand over the Doctor's second heart. "Send them in." He then ordered his guards with a nod to the door. The two guards exited the TARDIS, and a moment later three metallic spheres floated in. The doors closed once more as the Toclafane entered the Paradox Machine. The Doctor now faced the doorway, and his breath caught at the sight of the Master's minions. _It would break your hearts_. The Master's words rang in his head.

"Kids," The Master addressed them. "Meet the Doctor." He turned to them and placed a hand on the Doctor's bare shoulder, which the Doctor tried to shrug off.

"What are they?" He repeated his question from before.

"The Doctor." One of the Toclafane identified him in a matter-of-fact voice. "The Doctor helped us to fly."

"What?" The Doctor's voice grew sharp and grave.

"The Doctor helped Professor Yana." One of the other two Toclafane chimed in. "The Doctor sent us to Utopia!"

"No." The Doctor turned to the Master and begged in protest. "No!" he shouted, looking back to the inhuman spheres before him. "No you can't be!"

"They can." The Master said with a smile. "And they are." He walked amongst them. "You locked the co-ordinates, Doctor, but I did my best. I went back to Utopia and found them there." He walked again to stand in front of his captive. "Ooh, you should have seen it Doctor." He closed his eyes at the memory with a sickening grin. "Furnaces burning. The last of humanity screaming at the dark."

The Doctor closed his eyes, a single tear escaping them and falling down his cheek. It would be the first of many for the Toclafane.

"There was no Utopia." One of the spheres said. "No diamonds. Just the dark and the cold."

"All that human invention that had sustained them across the eons- It all turned inward." The Master informed his captive. "They cannibalized themselves."

"We made ourselves so pretty!" The last of the Toclafane spoke up. Its voice – the essence of childhood innocence, broke the Doctor's hearts.

"Regressing into children." The Master stated. "But it didn't work. The universe was collapsing around them."

"But then the Master came with his wonderful time machine to bring us back home!" The Toclafane replied, its voice sounding more and more agonizingly human with every word.

"After where you sent them they needed a savior." The Master said as he came closer to the Doctor. "Too bad you weren't around." He lifted a hand to the Doctor's chin and raised his face up to look him in the eye, considering the glistening lines upon the Doctor's tear-streaked face with a twisted an amused grin. "Fortunately… I was."

The Doctor clenched his teeth as the reality of the situation set in. The faces of each of those lost souls flashed through his mind's eye. He could not save them. No one ever could. They were lost now. They had become the Toclafane. The last effort of the great human race was survival at all costs. And it had cost them their humanity. The Doctor stuttered, struggling for words. He had only one word left.

"Why?" He asked desperately.

"Survival." The Master said simply, dropping the Doctor's chin and turning back to his children. "Isn't that what it's always been about? You wiped out the Time Lords. Why not the human race next? If a Time Lord can finish off his own kind, I'm sure a human can do the same. And a new Gallifrey will rise."

"We've come backwards in time, all to build a brand new empire lasting one hundred trillion years!" The child-like Toclafane told him happily.

"With me as their Master." The Master continued to grin proudly as he revealed his plans and the significance of his 'children'. "Time Lord and Humans combined." He said, turning around and once again forcing eye contact with his captive, this time placing a hand on each of his shoulders. "Haven't you always dreamed of that, Doctor?" He asked, holding the Doctor at arms' length.

"But _why_?" The Doctor desperately asked again, his voice cracking. "Why kill so many?" His eyes filled with tears as he looked past the Master to question the Toclafane themselves. "They're your own race! Why kill so many of them?"

The answer was the final blow in shattering both of the Doctor's hearts.

"Because it's fun!" The human life form cheered, and then began to laugh. The Doctor's breath caught at the words, and he felt his hearts being ripped apart.

"The Human Race." The Master told him with a sadistic grin. "Greatest monsters of them all."

"No…" The Doctor whispered. No, this was not the human race. It could not be. Humans were always stalwart survivors, but this was taking it too far. Pushed to the edge of their existence, with the universe collapsing around them, the human race had abandon everything that made them what they were – all beauty, all honor, all love and hope and value. Just as the Time Lords before them, they had fallen. And he would have to stop them again.

"As for you." The Master backed away from him with a shove, forcing the Doctor's stretched arms to pull against his painfully mounted chains. "You made this." The Master gestured to his Toclafane. "Just as much as 'Yana' did – you sent them to Utopia."

"No." The Doctor tried again to protest, but he could not deny the accusations.

"You sent them, leaderless, into the dark. You gave them hope where there was none. And it destroyed them." The Master continued.

"No! Listen to me! I could have saved them! I –" The Doctor begged.

"NO!" The Master yelled. "You launched that rocket. You would have sent them to their graves." There was no personal vengeance for him this time. In truth, he would not have cared what happened to that rocket if it did not help him personally. But the Doctor cared. That was his weakness. And the Master loved watching him squirm.

"The Doctor sent us to Utopia." The Toclafane repeated.

"Yes – The Doctor sent you into the starless, hopeless, endless night; Into the freezing wasteland on the edge of the void itself." The Master told them, all the while glorying in the Doctor's misery.

"Please." The Doctor looked to the floating spheres, tears filling his eyes. "I… I'm so sorry." He whispered.

"'Sorry' doesn't count, Doctor." The Master told him harshly, backhanding him again to shut him up. "So kids – here's the man that sent you away into the dark. You know what to do with him." He abruptly turned back to the TARDIS door, walking past the three Toclafane on his way out.

"No, please – " The Doctor's tear filled eyes turned to the Toclafane in sorrow and fear.

The Toclafane's horrible metal spiked extended.

"Try not to kill him." The Master said flippantly with a smirk as he exited the TARDIS and shut its doors behind him.

"Please!" The Doctor yelled, his words echoing down the halls of the Valiant. "I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! No! No!"

"_AAAAAAHHHHHHGGG_!" A terrible, gut wrenching scream was ripped from the Doctor's lips as the three Toclafane came upon him. Their horrible, spinning barbs ripped into his flesh, tearing skin and muscle to ribbons. "No-_AAAAAHH_! I'm sorry, I didn't mean to!" The Doctor begged, yelled, and screamed at the top of his lungs, thrashing wildly against his chains in a vain effort to escape.

"Please! _NAAAAHHH! AAAAAAAAAHHH_!" His shouts of agony came, faster and louder, breaking only long enough for him to suck in another tortured breath as they brutally ripped into his back, chest, face, legs, and arms. "_GAAAHHHHH! AAAAAH! AAAAAAAAAAHHHH!_"

Blood and tears streamed in equal measure as the Doctor's lacerated body was quickly covered in gashes and wounds that made the Master's earlier marks look like paper cuts. Pain laced through every fiber of his being and spots danced and flashed before his eyes. Attacked on every side, there was no escape and no end to the Toclafane's punishment. But they were clever. They knew their work far too well, and they made sure that even the blessed release of unconsciousness eluded him as long as possible.

'Please…stop. I'm sorry.' He tried to beg as his body began to go numb, but by now all that came out was another agonized wail. Over and over, his anguished howls rang through the TARDIS and down the halls. If it were possible, the TARDIS' alarms grew louder with them, screaming for her Doctor as his blood soaked her floors, dripping down onto the ship's inner workings below.

After what seemed like an eternity, the screaming stopped. At last, darkness overtook the Time Lord's mind. But he fell into the release of darkness in the knowledge that his tormentors would be there to greet him when he awoke. And the cycle would begin again and again until he was either rescued or dead. At the moment, the Doctor did not know which he longed for more.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: This chapter is shorter than normal (don't worry, the next one is longer than normal), but interestingly, it is the first thing I wrote of this story. I wrote all of the rest chronologically, but I wrote this chapter first. I hope you like it! ALSO: For those that care, I intend to post the next chapter of Not Domestic this week! Possibly tomorrow.

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><p>The Doctor's breath came in short, shaky sobs. His whole body shook and quivered in pain, threatening to completely break down at any moment. Sharp red lines criss-crossed the entirety of his exposed flesh, dripping streams of crimson blood onto the floor below. "I'm… sorry…" He moaned for the billionth time – an inaudible whisper. His throat had been torn to the point of uselessness by his own terrible screams.<p>

The Time Lord's skinny frame hung limply in his bonds. His wrists and hands had fallen asleep long ago, and stung as if they had been cut off completely. His sliced and weakened knees could no longer support him. And still his mind echoed with the screams of his beloved TARDIS, now joined by the sorrow of the Toclafane.

The three metallic spheres still floated behind him, perhaps considering what more they could do without violating their Master's command to spare his life. The Doctor could only pray that they had done all that they could. But an ever present tension plagued his mind, waiting to be struck and pierced again.

His eyes, red, hot, and swollen from tears, fluttered in a blurry state between open and closed just as his mind floated in and out of consciousness. His body wanted nothing more than to die. But he knew that regeneration would only allot him another round of agony at the hands of his new captors. And he was powerless to stop them.

The door before him opened with a familiar creak, and for the first time in his life the Doctor resented the sound with everything in him. He did not raise his eyes to the newcomer or make any physical response.

"Hello, Doctor." The Master's voice was clear and content. He grinned darkly at the Doctor's broken and defeated from. Still, the Doctor did not respond. "Did you miss me?" The Master continued, beginning to pace around his captive, looking over his children's handiwork with admiration and an ever-growing smile. As he reached his original spot before the Doctor, he grew impatient for a reply.

"I said-" The Master grabbed the other Time Lord's head and slipped a familiar loop of cloth around his neck. Pulling up sharply, he tightened the Doctor's own necktie back to his collar bone and lifted his chin with it to meet his own. "Did you miss me?" The Master's face was inches from that of his captive.

The Doctor choked at the sudden onslaught on his already tattered windpipe and neck. His eyes locked onto the Master's. Pride, hatred, fondness, and madness all mixed in his dark gaze, but it held no sign of compassion, regret, or sorrow. An aura of confidence surrounded him. It was one of the reasons that his Archangel Network had worked so well. Perhaps one day it would be his downfall. But today, it stood only to contrast with the Doctor's miserable weakness.

"Y-Yes…" He barely ground out the blatant lie. "M…Master…" He added, still gasping with each breath.

The Master's smile grew even wider at his words: At the power that they gave him. It felt good. Holding his oldest friend and foe by the neck like a dog on a chain, he took a moment to enjoy the pure expression of helplessness on the Doctor's bruised and bleeding face. It had been far too long.

"Good." The Master broke off the moment at last, releasing the Doctor's tie but leaving it hanging around his neck. "I'm sure you'll be sorry to hear, then, that I'll have to be gone for a few days. I'm busy, you know, being Lord and Master of all. It's hard work, but someone has to do it." He said with a sarcastic grin. The Doctor returned to his nearly vegetative state; his eyes half closed and his gaze glued to the floor below him.

"Come on, kids." The Master waved the Toclafane over as he walked out of the Paradox Machine. Stopping in the doorway, he shot another piercing glace back at the Doctor and turned to the two guards that stood outside the TARDIS. "Give him no food or water until I return." He instructed before closing and locking the door and happily walking away down the hall, tapping his ever-present drumbeat on the walls as he passed.


	6. Chapter 6

The TARDIS doors opened to admit Tish Jones. She gasped, eyes wide and mouth hanging open at what she saw. The back of her mind somehow registered the fact that the Police Box was bigger on the inside than the outside, and another part of her was alarmed by the ominous red walls, loud sirens, and hideous mechanics that towered in the middle of the room. But her attention focused directly on the broken shape of a man hanging in chains before her.

His body was bare and covered in blood. His boxers, nearly the only thing that clad him, were soiled and stained crimson from his wounds, along with the purple tie that hung pitifully from his neck. His head hung, eyes closed, against his torn and motionless chest. If he was breathing at all she could not see it. His skinny frame was accentuated by the evidence of malnourishment, starvation, and dehydration. His arms, chained and pulled out to the side, held his full weight with his knees buckled miserably beneath him. To all appearances he was dead. And his death had not come quickly.

The Master smiled as he led Miss Jones into the Paradox Machine to meet the Doctor. She held a tray in her hands carrying a glass of water, but no food. He had not told her what to expect, only that there was another prisoner for her to feed. She had been appalled by the state of Jack Harkness' imprisonment. Seeing the Doctor's misery now made her want to run away and throw up.

The Master approached the Doctor without a word, looking over his bloody and broken form. The Doctor made no reaction, and barely registered the other Time Lord's presence. A moment later, the Master greeted his prisoner with a swift, hard punch in the gut.

"Oohf!" The Doctor cried out roughly in pain as the air was forced from his lungs and consciousness was forced back onto his weary mind. His cry was echoed by Letitia, who jumped back as the dead man came to life with a jolt.

"Good morning." The Master said softly with his mouth by the Doctor's ear. "Long time no see. Too long. How are we feeling today?" He asked as he took a step back to observe the reaction.

The Doctor gasped and struggled for breath, his dry throat rebelling against every effort. He could not have responded verbally even if he wanted to. Shivers and convulsions shook his entire frame as his muscles quivered in shock and pain, rebelling against the life forced upon them. His vision blurred and it took him several long moments to even register the Master's words and the presence of Tish Jones.

He did not know how long it had been since he had seen a truly human being but it seemed like years. He had been without food, water, or visitors for well over a month now, although he had little way of knowing how long it had been. Even to the Lord of Time, the hours and days and weeks had blurred together in one long miserable existence. Even his alien body could not heal him properly as malnourished as he was. His mental efforts to penetrate the Network had ceased as his body shut down. If he were a human, he would have died long ago. But his Time Lord body had taken control and pushed itself to the edges of its ability to keep him alive.

"I've brought you a friend." The Master told him, placing a hand around Tish's shoulders and smiling as he felt her stiffen at his touch. "She's not your precious Martha, but she's close. I believe you two have met."

The Doctor struggled to raise his eyes to her. She gasped again, tears forming in her eyes as she saw his face. Red and swollen, one of his eyes refused to open at all and both were bruised and bleeding. His mouth hung open slightly, contributing to the expression of pure misery etched throughout his entire being.

His eyes at last came to rest on the glass of water in her hands, focusing longingly on the beautiful clear liquid that his body craved.

"Oh…" Tish at last remembered why she was here and approached the Doctor cautiously, shakily lifting the glass to him.

The Doctor breathed sharply in an anticipation as the glass touched his lips and reveled in pleasure as the luke-warm liquid flowed into his dry and parched mouth. He took a tiny sip of water, forcing himself to swallow it painfully. It felt as if knives had ripped his entire esophagus, and the water felt more akin to sand on its way down. But the more he drank, the better it felt. He took another small sip, fighting the urge to drink the entire glass in one thirsty gulp.

Tish place a supporting hand under his chin as the Doctor's sips turned into mouthfuls, his body greedily screaming for more and more. Water trickled down his dry but bloodied chin as he finished off the glass, gasping for breath once more as the last of the wonderful water flowed down his still parched throat. A sharp moan escaped his lips, begging for another drink.

Tish looked up to the Master in worried expectation. She wanted nothing more than to grant the Doctor's every request, but she knew that he would not allow it.

"That's enough for now." The Master told them both as he pushed Tish aside and once more flipped the switch to release his prisoner's bonds.

The Doctor crashed to the floor, falling on his face without even trying to catch himself. His entire body screamed at him as it was jerked back into motion after having been still for so long. His arms and hands filled with spiked, piercing pain as blood rushed back into them. His head hit the TARDIS floor, and he let out another exhausted moan.

"Get up." The Master ordered, immediately reinforcing his command with a hard kick to the Doctor's terribly injured ribs.

The Doctor let out a grunt of pain as the Master's foot made contact against his unprotected and torn side. He tried to force his body to obey the command for fear of more painful blows, but he could not. Pain laced through his every nerve as he fought to regain control over his body, but it would no longer obey him.

"I said get up!" The Master yelled, throwing another kick. He knew that the Doctor could not. Tish gasped and backed away at the abuse, wanting to go hide in a corner and cry. The Doctor let out another miserable moan as he struggled to move his non-functional hands into a better position to raise himself up. Rolling his head to the side and attempting to maneuver his left knee under himself.

Crying out with effort, he raised his half-dead body an inch off the ground just as the Master's foot made hard contact with him once more, sending him sprawling back down. The Doctor groaned as he lay on the floor again. He could not move. "Come on, get up!" The Master laughed and kicked him a fourth time, but this time he did not respond. He was resigned to his fate.

"Get up!" The Master ordered, pulling out his laser screwdriver and giving the Doctor a quick shock of fiery pain. He cried out as burning agony filled every cell of his being for one terribly elongated moment. Still, he could make little physical response to the order other than letting out a miserable moan, tears of pain striping his cheeks once more.

"You will get up," The Master said darkly, "Or Letitia here will feel the laser next." He lifted his screwdriver to point squarely at his unwilling servant.

The Doctor chocked at his words, his eyes springing open. He could hear Tish gasp somewhere behind him. She was so innocent, kind, and caring. He could not let that happen to her.

The Master smiled as, with extreme effort, the Doctor forced his weak and tattered limbs to comply with his will, pushing his trembling, bloody body off of the TARDIS floor and onto his hands and knees. "Good." The Master said, putting his screwdriver away. "Now stand up." He grabbed the tie that still hung about his prisoner's neck and lifted it upwards, forcing the Doctor to comply.

The Doctor's head swam and spun as he forced himself to his feet, lights flashing before his eyes. He fell back against the metal cage that surrounded the TARDIS console, pressing the lacerations on his back painfully.

"Get him dressed." The Master ordered Tish, indicating the corner in which the guards had stashed the Doctor's clothes. She quickly put down her tray and glass and went to obey, finding his trousers, shirt, and suit tossed on the ground.

The Master smiled darkly as he came closer to the Doctor's miserable form. His left hand still grasped the tie about his neck, and he placed his right on the metal grating behind the Doctor's left shoulder, leaning uncomfortably close to his bare and exposed body. "The great and powerful Doctor." He said in a smooth and taunting voice. "Look at you now."

The Doctor's head lolled away to the side, his mouth hanging open and his eyes closed. He tried not to let the Master disturb him, but it did not work.

"Here…" Tish placed a gentle hand on his shoulder as she came around with his clothes. She first helped him to shrug his previously clean shirt on over his many wounds, and then shift and balance his weight on one foot and then the other in order to put his trousers back on. The Doctor was forced to lean on the Master's arm he did this, much to his own disdain and the Master's pleasure. At last, she put his suit jacket back on over his now blood stained shirt. The Master buttoned it and fixed the Doctor's tie and collar with a satisfied smirk as Tish went to fetch the tray and glass she had brought in.

"Come along, Doctor." The Master then grabbed the Doctor's tie once more and began to drag him out of the TARDIS doors. The captive stumbled after him, still barely able to control his weak legs.

The three of them went down the hallways back to the main control room aboard the Valiant where Lucy Saxon and several guards and servants awaited them, including Martha and Tish's mother Francine.

The golden light of sunset streamed in from the windows on the left wall. As they entered the room the Master tugged sharply on the Doctor's necktie, shoving him forward and quickly landing him on his hands and knees. The Master continued past him, still dragging his tie, and forcing the Doctor to follow at his heals on all fours.

Rock music blasted loudly through the room, but the Master was the only one dancing. Dragging the Doctor to the front of the room, he stopped just long enough to grab his wife Lucy by the arm and pull her into a fierce kiss, before breaking it off just as quickly and turning away.

"Attention everyone!" He shouted, and the music silenced at his words. The guards snapped to attention and his secretaries and servants stopped what they were doing to pay heed. The Doctor was saddened to see how well his staff – full, he knew, of the Master's enemies – were trained. Each of them was held in their place only by the threat of either death or something worse than it.

"I believe you all remember the Doctor." The Master continued with a sly smile, tugging on the Doctor's tie and forcing him to sit up and face the room. With one hand, the Doctor gripped the knot of his tie, trying to pry it away from his already battered throat. With the other he attempted to steady his weary body as he sat miserably on the ground. His head still spun in an incapacitating daze, his vision blurred and blotchy. "Yes – the wonderful Doctor." The Master told them all, grabbing a handful of the Doctor's messy hair and forcibly lifting his bloodied face to the crowed he addressed. "He's been our… guest… for some time now." The Master said with a laugh, tossing the Doctor's head back down but still not releasing his tie. "But he's coming to join us on the bridge. Just try to ignore him the best you can." He smiled, and then turned to the Doctor and those standing near him.

"I've always wanted a dog." He said, yanking harshly on the Doctor's tie. He dragged him, like a dog on a leash, to the corner. In the corner by the window there stood one of the last things that the Doctor would expect to find on a huge airship like the Valiant: A small, white tent. It was extremely poorly made, with its wooden poles leaning miserably against each other in an almost mock-attempt to support the thin canvas, and was just barely big enough for a single person. On the door-flap was painted the stylized 'V' symbol of the Valiant. "You're new home!" The Master told him, at last releasing his tie with a firm shove towards the make-shift shelter.

The Doctor stumbled, falling head first into the cloth structure and nearly knocking it over. With considerable effort he dragged his arms out from under him and pulled himself towards whatever safety the white cloth might offer.

"Haha!" The Master laughed out loud as he flipped his music back on. He had selected a special song for the occasion.

"_You ain't nothin' but a hound dog_!" Elvis Presley's voice rang out of the speakers. The Master laughed again and began to sing along, dancing to the beat. He produced from a cabinet a small yellow dish with the word 'DOG' written on it in large, black letters. He placed it on the ground beside the Doctor's tent, singing "_They said you was high-classed, well that was just a lie…" _along with the stereo. "_You ain't nothin' but a hound dog, and you ain't no friend of mine_."

The Doctor did not even waste the effort to look up at him. His greatly abused body was far too weak to waste any energy on being spiteful or even feeling the humiliation that the Master was forcing on him. He had not eaten since he, Martha, and Jack were together at the abandon warehouse where he had constructed their perception filters. In reality that was around two months ago. However to everyone involved it seemed like a lifetime. By either estimation, his body was well beyond starved, and he was still painfully dehydrated.

The Doctor's head finally raised as he heard the sound of something being poured out into the food dish he had been given. "There you go." The Master said, as if being nice, as he poured a large portion of small brown bits into the bowl from a large bag clearly marked as dog food unfit for human consumption.

The Doctor looked to the kibble and was torn at first by disgust and then by extreme hunger, as he considered whether or not it was worth it. He realized that even if it was, his starved and fragile body could not digest such solid food even if he wanted it too. Regardless, his face was soon forcibly shoved into the bowl, with the short command "Eat." from the Master above him. The Doctor closed his eyes in defeat and decided not to struggle.

Forcing his mouth to open and close around what he tried to remind himself was, in fact, food, the Doctor prayed that he was incorrect about his body's ability to handle the sudden onslaught of hard sustenance. But he knew that he was not. Struggling to cause himself to chew – something that his body seemed to have forgotten how to do – He choked and nearly gagged before finally making himself painfully swallow the mouthful.

A few moments later, and the Doctor's estimations were deemed correct. His frail body could not cope with his sudden change in diet, and rejected it completely. Holding himself up on his hands and knees once more, the Doctor retched miserably in the corner, tears forming in the corners of his eyes from both pain and shame. His stomach empty once more, he collapsed to the floor again, unable to even wipe his own chin clean.

"Clean it up." The Master ordered, pointing first to Francine and then to the Doctor's mess. He seemed unfazed by the events and had quickly grown bored of his new pet, turning back to Lucy and whispering something in her ear.

"I-I'm sorry…" The Doctor tried to whisper as Francine came next to him and began the gross and demeaning task demanded of her. Her face was drawn and she did not respond to his pitiful moans.

"Well." The Master stood to his feet and clapped his hands together. "If you don't eat that, you won't get anything else." He told the Doctor, as if chiding a small child about eating his vegetables. "Me and the missus are off." He added, grabbing Lucy's hand and leading her out of the room with a content smile. "Goodnight, Dog-tor!" He laughed loudly at his own joke as the doors shut behind them.

For several long minutes the Doctor lay motionless on the floor as his tired brain tried to register the full implications of his new situation and planned to use them. He was no longer in his TARDIS but he could still work on infiltrating the Archangel network from here. At the moment, however, all he wanted was food, water, and sleep. Only the last seemed an option, and as such, he forced himself to crawl inside the small tent he had been given as quarters. A guard stood beside its entrance, but did not interfere with the Doctor in any way as he pushed himself inside on his hand and knees and proceeded to collapse onto the hard floor. Curling up into a small of a ball as his injured body would allow, with each and every muscle and nerve protesting the whole way, he at last fell into the blessed unconsciousness of sleep.


	7. Chapter 7

The Doctor awoke with a start as a warm hand silently touched his right shoulder and shook him gently. His eyes sprung open and he sucked in a breath of alarm as he looked to the new intruder, fully expecting to see that the Master had come back for more.

What he saw was the exact opposite. Letitia Jones leaned over him with a finger pressed to her lips, motioning him to be silent. He could not have uttered a word if he had wanted to. In the pale blue light that the moon shone through the window he could see that she held up a tray with a bowl, spoon, and a glass full of something. The Doctor's heart leapt at the prospect of proper food and drink at last.

Painfully forcing himself to roll over, he attempted to sit himself up so that he might eat and give Tish more room inside the tiny tent. His mouth opened in a silent cry of effort as he ordered his heavily wounded body to sit up, and his body fought to obey. Tish placed a steady hand behind his shoulders and tried to help the best she could, as the Doctor still struggled to regain control of his body, especially his arms, which had been painfully bound for so long. Clumsily pushing himself up, he almost knocked over the whole tent before finally settling roughly against the back wall, which, thankfully, was set against the wall of the Valient behind him.

"There you go…" Tish whispered comfortingly. Her voice was hauntingly like that of her sister. In the dark, for a moment, the Doctor almost forgot that it was not Martha helping him, as she had before. "I brought this. Snuck it out of the kitchen and told the guard it was the Master's orders." Tish continued softly, lifting a small glass out to the Doctor. He tried to grasp it and drink but his clumsy hands, still in painful rebellion after being useless for so long, nearly dropped the glass.

Tish caught it before it could spill over him and lifted it gently to his lips. Breathing heavily, the Doctor tried to steady himself as he drank. Cool, sweet, refreshing bliss washed over him as he realized that it was not water that he was drinking, but milk: Nutrient rich, hydrating, wonderful milk: Whole cow's milk, to be precise. He wanted to bless Tish's name a hundred times for giving it to him and granting him at last a joyous escape from the torture of his months long fast, but as he finished his drink the only thing he could grind out was a weak, shaky "Thank you."

Tish nodded. "I've heard that milk was the best thing to give a starving man." She whispered. The Doctor weakly smiled at her brilliance. "Sis' went to Med. School. I picked up a few things." She did her best to copy his smile. It broke her heart to see anyone in this state, and she could not sleep thinking that the Doctor was being treated as he was. When Martha had first stated interest in becoming a doctor Tish had thought little of her wish to help people, and had wanted to pursue her own more self-seeking ends. But now that she was at last confronted with what true misery looked like, she too would do anything she could to make it end.

"Your sister was right." The Doctor said in short, adding another "Thank you." as his voice grew stronger.

"Here." Tish next lifted the trey she had brought with the spoon. "It's not much, but it's what they've been giving your friend Jack." She told him, handing him a bowl of what looked like unappetizing gruel to her, but to the starving man, it looked like most succulent thing in the world.

The Doctor struggled once more to control his clumsy hands and force them to grasp the spoon she gave him. It hurt almost unbearably to move his raw, sliced wrists, and his fingers had not been spared by the efforts of the Toclafane. In the end, Tish took hold of the spoon for him.

"I'm sorry…" The Doctor began.

"Don't be." She cut him off, lifting a spoonful of mashed turnip, or as Jack called it, 'cold mashed swede', to the Doctor's mouth.

The two sat in silence for a moment as the Doctor ate. His entire mouth seemed to be exploding in ecstasy at the taste of food, even as lowly a food as it was. Unlike the kibble he had been forced to consume earlier, the Doctor knew that his body would be able to digest the mash, especially after the wonderful treat of a glass of milk. For a public relations assistant, Latitia was making an incredible nurse.

At last, Tish broke the silence. "I can see why Martha loves you." She said quietly. The Doctor stopped suddenly, swallowed, and looked up into her eyes. Tish almost laughed at the sense of confusion she saw in them. "She does, Doctor. She would follow you to the ends of the earth and back."

The Doctor wondered if Tish knew that Martha already had.

"She loves you. Mum's not happy about it, but… I can see it from Martha's side." She offered the Doctor another spoonful, which he took and ate, but all of his attention was now on her words.

"You saved my life once, I think you remember. In the bell tower of that church. I saw you and Martha together – oh, it seems so long ago now. You two make quite a team." She said with a smile. "I don't even know your proper name. But after what you've done, 'The Doctor' is good enough for me. Martha believed you could save us – I know she did. So tell me, Doctor…" Tish paused for a moment and the Doctor's dark brown eyes locked onto her own. "Is there any hope?" She asked with a depth of sorrow that was reflected on her entire face.

The Doctor swallowed his last mouthful, sill looking deep into Tish's eyes. "There's always hope." He told her, much more firmly than anything he had said thus far.

"Can you save us? Do you have a plan? Could you… beat him?" Tish asked expectantly. She put the now empty tray and spoon down, but made no move to leave the little tent. The guard outside did not bother them, but she lowered her voice all the same.

"I… I don't know." The Doctor told her truthfully. The smile fell from Tish's lips. "It's up to Martha now. I do have a plan, but… Your sister is the greatest hope we have."

"Martha?" Tish questioned. She remembered watching her sister disappear off of the ship, like a teleport or something – like something straight from a sci-fi TV show. "Is she alright, Doctor?" Tish asked seriously.

"I don't-" The Doctor stopped. His eyes locked onto Tish's once more. "Yes." He told her. "She's alright." She had to be. If she was otherwise, he was sure that he would know. The Master was far too prideful to let something as significant as the death or capture of Martha Jones go unannounced. Still, he worried about her practically every moment. He had sent her on a mission; one that he knew would be more than difficult. It was a nearly impossible task. But he had to believe she could do it. He knew she would.

"It's all down to her now." The Doctor continued. "Martha Jones – saving the world." He did his best to smile. "You should be proud of her." He added quietly.

"I am." Tish said, sniffing and trying to fight back her tears. She and Martha were the closest out of their dysfunctional family, but still it had been a long time since the two had simply spent a day together as friends. She was proud of her sister and she loved her. But the way things were going, she might never get a chance to tell her.

"I am too." The Doctor told her. A comfortable silence followed, before Tish at last remembered the risk that she was taking by even being there.

"I should go." She whispered, placing the empty glass back on the tray and picking it up. The Doctor reached out with some effort and caught her arm.

"Tish." He called quietly. She stopped and looked to him. "Thank you." He told her one last time. "Your sister loves you. And by the time this ends, she'll be proud of you too."

Tish sniffed once more and blinked back tears. '_By the time this ends_.' The Doctor's words rang in her ears. There would be an end, she reminded herself. She had to believe him. There would be a time when all of this was over, and she and her family could be together again. She nodded, and turned once more to leave the small tent.

"And Tish – " The Doctor coughed. "Tell Jack I'm sorry. About everything." He said as she crawled out of the door and stood to her feet.

"I will, Doctor." He heard her whisper, and then carefully walk away.

The Doctor closed his eyes and slumped back against the cold wall, silently thanking God for milk and cold mashed swede and Martha and Tish Jones. Strengthened by her visit, he determined to sleep the rest of the night and begin his attempts to integrate with the Archangel Network again in the morning.


	8. Chapter 8

"_Nuuughh_…" A tired moan escaped Doctor's lips as he was literally dragged out of his tent. One of the guards had obviously been ordered to get him up, and had bodily dragged him, by his ankles, out of the tent and into the light. The friction between his wounded body and the floor hurt terribly and his muscles protested the motion, but he let himself be dragged. He had been having a surprisingly good night, given his condition. Tish's kindness had done much more for him than she had even known, and his Time Lord body was finally beginning to heal itself properly.

His wounds were still alarmingly severe and were largely untreated, but they had healed much more than any human's wounds would have in one night. The Master noted this as he smiled down as his waking captive. The Doctor's eyes were clamped shut and he opened them slowly, determining that whatever the Master was to do with him he would withstand it, and hopefully do nothing to add to his punishment. He did not want to submit to his foe, but he wanted even less to be handed over to the Toclafane again.

"Wakey-wakey!" The Master said cheerfully as the Doctor slowly blinked awake. He twirled his large laser screwdriver playfully in his right hand and spun back and forth in his spiny chair, looking down at this captive with a frightening grin.

The Doctor wanted nothing more than to roll over and crawl back into this little tent, but he knew that he would only be dragged back out again. He tried to pay the Master at least a little heed, even as his mind did its best to drift back to sleep as he lay on the cool floor.

"It's time to teach an old dog some new tricks." The Master smiled and stood to his feet, looking around the room as if he was addressing an important audience. Only Lucy smiled back at him; the rest of the guards and staff did their best to ignore whatever terrible act he might commit next. "So… Sit!" The Master commanded, turning back to where his captive lay on the floor.

The Doctor's head rolled to the side, but he made no effort to sit up. He did not want to play these games. A moment later he discovered that this was a mistake, as white hot fire poured through his entire nervous system again, converging on the painful spot at which the laser screwdriver's beam pierced his chest. His muscles tightened painfully in a vain attempt to fight off the attack and he panted for breath as he was released at last.

"I said _sit_." The Master over-enunciated the word threateningly. "Sit up." He ordered.

The Doctor let out a tired sigh and forced himself to roll painfully onto his side, gritting his teeth with effort. "Yes…Master…" He forced the words out and pressed himself up sideways until he was at least semi-sitting up, breathing hard, with his head against his chest and his weight resting on quivering arms.

"Good boy." The Master patted the Doctor's head with a smile. He was enjoying this game. "Now… beg." He ordered darkly. This time, the Doctor did not wait for punishment before responding.

"Please." He whispered, lifting his head. His eyes begged an audience with the Master – begging not for his own sake, but for the Master's own. "Just listen to me." The Doctor pleaded. "You can stop this!-"

"Wrong!" The Master cut him off with a swift punch to the face, sending the Doctor sprawling back to the floor with a bleeding nose. The Master laughed as he crashed miserable back down and did his best to ignore the Doctor's honest cries to help him.

For what seemed like hours the Doctor continued to do as the Master commanded, muttering more and more "Yes, Master"s as he continued to push his tired and heavily wounded body to its limits; much to his captor's enjoyment. Although he became more and more compliant with the Master's degrading dog-like commands the punishment he received grew more and more frequent, until the Master at last got bored of his power-game.

"How about we try roll over next? Can you do roll over?" He continued to mock. The Doctor looked up from his place crumpled on the floor and let out another exhausted sigh. He had done everything asked of him, and for what? The Master lifted his screwdriver again and pointed it towards the Doctor.

With considerable effort, the Doctor reacted by pushing himself onto his back and rolling over. He looked to the Master in indignation to see if he was satisfied.

"All the way over." The Master told him, his tone still that of a dog trainer. He moved his laser's aim from the Doctor and pointed it instead at Tish; a tactic he had found very useful the first time around. The Doctor breathed in sharply as he remember why he was doing all of this. It was for them; the human race. He had buy Martha time and protect her family. He glared threateningly at the Master but complied with his order, forcing his wounded body to roll back onto his stomach and finally onto his side in the position he had started.

"There's a good boy." The Master smiled and tossed a dog biscuit towards the Doctor's face as he had done several times already. The Doctor paid it little heed, still waiting for the Master to lower his weapon, but he never did.

"How about… Play dead." The Master ordered next with a cruel smile, his laser still pointing towards Leticia, who stood against the far wall, a guard now on either side of her. The Doctor nodded suspiciously and cautiously complied with the simple command, rolling onto his back again letting his head rest on the floor, allowing his eyes to close.

The Master grinned in twisted pleasure as he watched the Doctor unsuspectingly lay his head down. He was bored of his pet, and he would test the Doctor's obedience in his own way.

Without warning, he threw a hard kick towards the Doctor's wounded side. His eyes closed, the Doctor never saw the blow coming, and he let out a sharp cry as it made impact, curling tightly around his torn ribs in pained reaction, his eyes flying open.

"Bad dog!" The Master yelled with a dark laugh, firing a shot from his laser toward Tish. She cried out and ducked, and the laser missed her by inches, leaving a dark, burnt spot on the wall behind her.

"STOP IT!" The Doctor yelled desperately at once, finding his voice and sitting up in a flash, glaring daggers at his captor. His eyes laid bare all the fury of his heart and held a danger that most would be remiss to cross. But the Master merely smiled down on him as if looking at an ignorant child.

"Tisk, tisk, Doctor." He chided, shaking his head. "I said play dead. And dead dogs don't move." He said matter-of-factly. The Doctor's eyes widened and his brown knotted determinedly as the words sunk in. He was now expected to take the Master's abuse without response or motion. He held the Master's gaze for a moment longer, question and horror filling his eyes.

"Leave them out of it." The Doctor ordered him firmly through his teeth. It was not a request, it was a demand. Yet it was still denied.

The Master shook his head and gestured towards the mark on the wall. "I don't have to miss." He informed his captive. "Now play dead." The Master commanded again.

The Doctor took the hint and begrudgingly forced himself to lay back on the ground. His captor smiled as the Doctor hesitantly closed his eyes once more and worked to steady his heavy breathing. The Master waited for a moment, pacing around his captive, so that the Doctor would not expect it, before throwing another solid kick just as suddenly as before, this time to his other side.

The Doctor exhaled sharply and focused all of his strength on not wrapping himself around the blow and crying out in pain. He could feel the month-old wounds from the Master's knife re-opening, and the warm touch of blood against his side. He forced his eyes to stay closed. The Master smiled at his efforts, satisfied enough not to shoot.

For a long, pain-staking moment, the Doctor lay blind and helpless on the ground, just waiting for the Master's next assault. But he did not have to wait long. The Doctor clenched his jaw hard in an effort not to scream as he felt the laser screwdriver's fiery onslaught once more. His body tightened, but he tried his utmost to remain still. He could not let Tish endure this pain as well. Every fiber in his being cried out that he escape this pain, but he could not. He would not. He tried not to gasp for breath as he was released, but it was getting harder. He could feel his two hearts pounding erratically in his chest from the strength of the laser's shock.

The Master's smile waivered at the Doctor's success and he considered his next attack. He was getting bored of this game, and he wanted the Doctor to mess up again. His smirk returned as he paced around the helpless man and figured out how. In a last effort to break the Doctor's resolve, he threw his hardest kick yet between the Doctor's legs.

"_Oohf_!" The Doctor could not help but cry out and double over again at the painful impact. His eyes sprang open just in time to see the Master's punishment for the violation of his command. He pointed his screwdriver squarely at Leticia and fired.


	9. Chapter 9

The Doctor reacted without even thinking as Tish's scream echoed through the room. He had to stop this. "No!" He yelled, lashing out with his legs as best he could. His foot made hard contact with the Master's knees, throwing off his shot and knocking him to the ground. The laser screwdriver fell from his hand.

Both of the Time Lords quickly pushed themselves off the floor in a struggle to reach the fallen device, but only the Master had a room full of guards at his command. Before he could reach it, the Doctor found himself struggling against no less than four pairs of hands that all grabbed him and held him down.

The Master laughed as he stood up and dusted himself off, taking his favorite tool off the floor right in front of the Doctor's face. The guards held the Doctor's elbows behind his back and he stopped struggling against them, simply glaring up to the Master from his place pinned to the floor; his face an image of rage.

"I said leave them alone." He ground out. The Master shook his head with a smug grin.

"Cuff him." He ordered. Soon the Doctor's wrists were bound behind his back. "And his ankles." The Master instructed next. Soon the Doctor's feet were securely locked as well. His expression did not change, but something in him somehow enjoyed that he was now seen as a threat. "Now kneel." The Master commanded. The guards dragged him roughly into a kneeling position at the Master's feet, his bound hands and feet still held tightly behind his back, now nearly touching.

"Now…" The Master continued, walking around the Doctor and grabbing another pair of cuffs off of one of his guard's belt. He locked one side around the chain between the Doctor's wrists and another around the chain between his ankles, effectively locking him in his current position, knees bent and arms pulled back. He could not extend his legs or even effectively move his arms. He could not protect himself. The Master smiled at his own genius, then tested the arraignment by throwing one last, hard punch to the Doctor's gut.

The captive Time Lord doubled over in anguish, but he could not even bend all the way down. Painful tension formed between his wrists and ankles as the handcuffs cut harshly into both and rendered him practically immobile; exposed to the full force of Master's punishment with no hope of defense. His head lay defeated against his heaving chest, his breath coming in heavy gasps.

The Master said nothing but finished by tipping the Doctor over onto his side. Without the use of his arms or legs, the prisoner was unable to right himself or even move. He tried pushing himself away like an inchworm, contorting his bruised and bleeding abdomen in a pitiful attempt to crawl away. It did not work. He rolled painfully onto his back, pinning his arms beneath him, but still his attempts were in vain.

"Have fun, Doctor." The Master smirked and walked away to entertain himself elsewhere and Lucy ran after him. From the other side of the room, Tish bit her lip as she watched the Master leave, wanting nothing more than to repay the evil man for his cruel deeds in kind.

The Doctor continued to reel and attempt to move from his awkward position on the floor for a moment longer before giving up and laying still. As his eyes closed he could hear heavy footsteps approaching. He sighed in further defeat at the thought of the Master's quick return, but was surprised when he instead felt four strong hands lifting him up from the floor. He opened his eyes to see a pair of the Master's guards dragging him back towards his tent in the corner. Tish stood behind them.

The Doctor's brow knotted as he looked between them suspiciously. They did not dare make eye contact with him, but Tish's eyes held a message of sympathy and steadfast hope.

"We're sorry…" The two guards told him quietly as they set him on his knees. For the first time, the Doctor remembered that, unlike the Master, none of the armed men enjoyed or supported what they did. They only did as they were told. As he looked around the room, he could see in each guard's face nothing other than sorrow and fear. The Master had probably imprisoned them and their families and threatened them at every turn. They were just as much captives as he was. Only they were ordered to betray all they had ever believed in just to stay alive.

As he looked back into their eyes the Doctor fully believed that they meant what they said. He did not know what to tell them. He could not tell them that it was alright, but at last he managed "I understand."

"We can't undo the cuffs or he'll know we helped you." One of them whispered in a thick Scottish accent. The Doctor nodded in reply. He would just have to deal with the pain and discomfort. He could feel his hands already falling asleep, as if pierced again by a thousand needles. "Sorry…" The other said again as they helped him back towards the relative security of his small tent.

"_I'm_ sorry." The Doctor said at last. The guards stopped and stared. They did not understand what he could be sorry for – it was they that had wronged him. "I am sorry for what the Master has done." The Doctor continued. "What are your names?" He asked weakly, looking up to them from his place miserably kneeling on the ground.

"J-Joshua." The first of them replied.

"Charlie, sir." The Scott added cautiously. They were not used to speaking to prisoners, but they felt it was the least they could do for this horribly and wrongly abused man.

"Joshua and Charlie," The Doctor told them in a tired but persevering voice. "I forgive you." He said. The two looked between each other in confusion at what they were hearing. The Doctor did his best to raise his weak voice and address everyone in the room. Now that the Master was gone, only his unwilling servants remained. "All of you. For everything; for whatever you must do." He looked each of them in the eye. "I know you must be protecting your families and your lives. So _thank you_, and I'm sorry." He said. Joshua and Charlie, and a few others, stood with their mouths hanging open in shock at his words. He had every right to hate and shame them; they hated and shamed themselves. Tish smiled from the corner. Beside her, her mother merely stared at the Doctor in confusion, wondering if perhaps – just perhaps - she had been wrong about him.

"Defying the Master is dangerous; I don't want you to do anything stupid. Follow your orders." The Doctor told them all seriously. "But know that because of people like you, there is hope." He did his best to smile. "Don't worry about me. Protect those that you can. And thank you." The Doctor finished his impromptu speech, still breathing hard from his beating.

"Y-you're welcome, sir." Charlie said hesitantly. The Doctor smiled and nodded. He could see the hope growing in their eyes. The young man raised his hand to salute the captive he was charged with guarding.

"There's no need for that." The Doctor told him gently. "But if you two could help me back inside…" He motioned towards the white tent.

"Of course." Joshua spoke quickly, as he and Charlie lifted the Doctor as best they could from under his arms and dragged him back inside his tent. He motioned for them to lean him against the back wall again, that he might try and rest once more.

"I'll try to bring some more food tonight." Tish told him quietly, leaning in the tent as the two guards backed away and returned to their posts.

"Thank you." The Doctor said again. "And thank you for telling them." He knew that it was because of Leticia that the guards now saw him differently. At first he was just another prisoner; now he was their only hope. Tish nodded as she too left the Doctor to his rest.

As he was left alone at last the Doctor breathed a deep sigh. It felt good to know that there were more well-meaning men aboard. He felt he would need them soon to spread the invading message of hope within the Master's army itself. With this thought he turned his mind once more to the fifteen satellites orbiting somewhere overhead, and the Archangel Network's power.


	10. Chapter 10

"Doctor?" Tish's whisper woke him from his light sleep, and his eyes sprang open.

"Hmm?" He had been nodding off for the last several hours, but even as tired as he was, it was hard to rest in this position. He could hardly feel his hands anymore, he could not help sitting on at least one of his feet, and they stung terribly. As she entered the tent he forced himself away from the wall slightly with his elbow, grateful for even the slightest change in position.

"I'm sorry I could only get water and mash tonight, but I should have more time. Joshua is on guard duty – you met him earlier? He'll try to help us out." With the Doctor curled up against the far wall there was more room for his guest, and she placed her tray down on the floor.

"Good man." The Doctor coughed as he tried to situate himself better, but there really was no position he could achieve that made it any more bearable. Still on his knees and sitting on his feet, with his arms drawn back painfully, he did his best to prop himself up against the wall and not fall over. There was absolutely no hope of him feeding himself this time, so he nodded his thanks as Tish lifted a glass of cool, clear water to his lips.

Besides her visits he had not eaten at all, nor had any water, and the liquid felt like a miracle as it poured down his throat. He made a mental note to go ahead and eat the dog food the Master had left him if it would get him more food. His body was beginning heal and he was sure his stomach could handle it now. Plus, he was sure that he had eaten many alien foods far more unpleasant than simple dog kibble.

"I wanted to thank you for what you did earlier." Tish whispered quietly as she held the glass for him, tipping the water gently into his mouth. The more she watched the Doctor, the more she felt for him. And when she watched him being beaten and punished on her account, she was convinced that he was everything that could save them, and everything that already had. The Doctor simply nodded in reply. "You could have just let the laser hit me, you know." Tish continued cautiously. "God knows you've been hurt enough."

The Doctor stopped drinking for a moment and looked her in the eye. He appreciated the gesture, and that she was thinking about his safety above her own, but he would not let her be harmed. "It would have killed you." He told her seriously.

Tish was a bit taken aback by his answer and lowered the glass slightly, her expression changing into one of confusion. "What do you mean?" She asked cautiously. "It didn't kill you. And Jack's still here." She pointed out, thinking her evidence conclusive in proving him wrong.

"Yeah, well, I'm a Time Lord. The Master doesn't want me dead. As for Jack, he's… different." The Doctor said weakly, his voice cracking slightly. "But you're just a human; that laser was practically designed to kill you in a flash." He told her.

"You're a… what? Wait, what do you mean I'm 'just a human'? You aren't?" Tish asked in only slight disbelief.

"I'm a Time Lord." The Doctor repeated, remembering with a twinge of grief that it was not Martha that he was addressing. "So is the Master – we're both Time Lords, another race from far away."

"Wait, like aliens?" Tish asked him, her curiosity now peaked. After what she had seen – the Master, the Toclafane, the Paradox Machine, not to mention everything that happened at Professor Lazarus' experiments so long ago, and everything that had been all over the news – she was ready to believe anything the Doctor told her.

"Yes, aliens. And we're not the only ones – there are billions of other races out there, and the Master intends to make war on the universe. The Toclafane were only the beginning. He'll destroy us all if we can't stop him." The Doctor tried to sum everything up for her. He nodded towards the bowl of food she had brought and she quickly apologized for forgetting the reason she had come.

As Tish lifted a spoonful of swede for him, she took time to register the news that she was currently hand-feeding a real-life space alien. If someone had told her any of this one year ago, she would have called them crazy. But she could not help but believe him now.

They sat in silence for a while longer as the Doctor ate – still amazed at the mere taste of food, no matter how bad it actually tasted. He finished almost the entire bowl before speaking again. "Like I said, it's all up to Martha now…" He mused, his eyes far-off as he thought of her plight.

Tish bit her lip slightly as she thought of her sister Martha. She did not know where she was, but she could only pray that the Doctor was right, and that she was still alive and working towards whatever goal the Doctor could see before them. Tish herself could not see any hope or goal besides the ones he painted with his words.

"I really liked what you said earlier, by the way." She whispered, her mind returning to his words to the guards holding him earlier that day. He had forgiven them; giving them hope and dignity in a way she would never have believed. "Charlie is determined to help any way he can, and so am I." She told him firmly as he finished his last bite of mashed swede. "I know you said not to disobey orders, but is there anything we can do?"

The Doctor smiled. He was beyond grateful for everything she had done; for a full stomach and a comforting hand. For letting him know that there was still some good and hope left in this world – just as he had done for her. "You already are." He told her earnestly.

"I know, but I mean…" Tish lowered her voice to an even quieter whisper, "You've got to have a plan, don't you? Jack thinks you do. I told him what you said about Martha. We want to help."

The Doctor nodded, taking in a deep breath. "The plan right now is to buy time and keep the Master distracted." He whispered back. It would take far too long and be far too great a risk to tell her what they were distracting him from; both for the plan's sake and for her own.

"Well, you seem to be doing that rather well." Tish looked sadly over his pitifully broken and chained form. Even in the dark, she could make out the fresh crimson stains on his clothes and under his nose, and she knew of all of the old marks that he had received at the Master's hands. The sight of him hanging helpless, bleeding, and practically dead in the Paradox Machine was forever burned into her mind's eye. "How can I help?" she asked.

"I don't know." The Doctor's brow knotted in thought. "For right now just continue to spread hope." He smiled gratefully, and she could not help but smile back. "We need to distract him somehow; I feel that my simply being here won't be enough eventually. We need some kind of… diversion."

"Like what?" Tish scooted a tiny bit closer and kept her voice down. It was not that she did not trust Joshua, just that she felt that their plans should remain a secret from all other ears.

"Like some kind of resistance." The Doctor mused, shifting his weight again and still trying to adjust his painful, hog-tied position. "He needs to think he knows our plans."

Leticia smiled. "I'll tell Jack to start planning. He's been waiting for a chance to attempt an escape."

The Doctor rolled his eyes. "He would." He was ashamed to admit it, but he had almost forgotten that Jack was also a captive on board. He hoped that the Captain was being treated better than he was, but he highly doubted it. Now that he thought about it, Jack – the man who could not die – would be a most invaluable part of his plans. And an escape attempt was the perfect place to start. Jack was just brave enough or just brash enough to try it.

"That would probably work…" He thought aloud, before turning to Tish with instructions. "Tell Jack to wait until noon on the guard's midday shift in a few days time. And you can't tell any of the guards the plan, not even Joshua or Charlie. I don't want any of them involved or looking as if they are helping us." He said. "Just make sure and tell the guardsmen that if they openly help us, he won't hesitate to kill them and their families. I don't need that."

Tish nodded, but the Doctor continued. "You too, by the way. The only reason you and your family are alive is because the Master wants Martha to witness your deaths." He told her matter-of-factly.

Tish ground her teeth in anger at his words, not because she could deny them, but because she knew that they were true. Her hatred for the Master was rising higher every time she thought of him – sleeping peacefully while the earth burned, and everything that was good and right in the world mourned. "I'll make him regret it." She muttered harshly, beginning to collect the things she had brought.

"Tish?" The Doctor summoned eye contact with her. He could see the hate in her eyes, and it was something he did not need. He wanted to explain to her that he did not hate the Master, and that hate was not the answer to anything. He had seen firsthand how hate can tear the world apart; first in the Time War and now in its final cry; the Master. To be powered by hate was to be no better than them. He wanted to tell her, but the only thing he managed to say was "Don't do anything you'll regret."

Tish nodded, but he knew that his message had not been received. She picked up the glass of water and saw that there was a little bit left. Lifting it to his lips once more, she let him finish it and then moved to leave.

"We can win this." The Doctor told her strongly and she turned back to him. "But it will take time. Lots of time, I'm afraid." Tish nodded, and prayed that it would not be too long; she did not know how much more she could stand, and the Doctor looked as if one more punch might destroy him. "You'll know when the day comes." He continued, "It will be the day he readies for war."

"I'll tell Jack." Leticia nodded as she backed out of his small tent.

"Thank you." The Doctor replied with a smile. She looked him over with curiosity as she left the tent. Bruised, bleeding, and bound hand and foot, he was still smiling, and he still brought them all hope. He was a very unusual man; the fact that he was an alien was beside the point on that. She was glad that Martha had met him. Perhaps together they could save the world.


	11. Chapter 11

The following morning the Doctor groggily awoke to the tolling of a bell. His brow knotted as awareness slowly crept back into his mind. He was sure that that sound meant something, but he could not remember what. It grew slightly louder, and he could hear footsteps approaching.

"Come on, get up!" The Master's voice invaded the darkness of his sleepy mind. The Doctor's eyes shot open to take in the bright morning light as he remembered what that sound was. In his 'training' the previous day the Master had taught him, like a dog, that he must wake up and come out of his tent whenever the Master called with his hand bell. The consequence of disobedience to this command had been fully and painfully explained to him by the repeated use of the Master's laser device, and the Doctor had no intention of feeling such retribution again. Not for something as stupid as this.

He moved quickly to respond and save himself from the Master's wrath when he discovered, or perhaps re-discovered, that he could not. As he pushed himself off of the back wall the chains around his wrists and ankles caught, and he ended up only tossing himself straight onto the ground, smacking his face on the hard floor as he did. A thousand needles seemed to pierce his aching limbs as blood rushed back into his fingers and toes, but they were the least of the Doctor's worries. Grunting with effort, he struggled against his bonds to make his way out of the tent and appease the Master's demands – if for nothing other than to make that horrible ringing stop – but his efforts were in vain.

Just as he felt sure that the Master was about to put down his bell and take up his screwdriver, the door to the tent opened and the Scottish guard Charlie leaned in, grabbed the bound man, and dragged him out. The Doctor nodded his thanks as the man saved him from what would have been a pointless punishment.

"Ah, there you are." The Master said, turning to him. "That took long enough." If he noticed the way Charlie had dragged him out, he did not seem to care. "Oh, I forgot, you're a bit tied up at the moment, aren't you?" He laughed, once again spinning his screwdriver playfully in his hands. "Bring him over here." The Master ordered and he slipped the device back into his pocket.

Charlie and one of the other guards obeyed, and the Doctor was soon kneeling at the Master's feet once more. His head sagged pitifully against his chest. His wounds had healed a bit overnight but they left him with little energy to spare and his poor rations did nothing to assist his worn out body. He shifted uncomfortably in his chains once more as the Master looked down on him with a dark smile.

"Doctor, Doctor, Doctor…" The Master shook his head as he squatted down in front of the other Time Lord, coming down to his level to look his face over. He took hold of the purple tie that still hung securely around his captive's neck and played with it as he spoke. "Look what's become of you…" He muttered. "Chained up like the killer you are." He whispered, smiling at the nerve he had hit in the Doctor's broken hearts.

The Doctor's eyes rose up to lock onto those of his captor at the accusing words, but he remained silent. The unchangeable knowledge of what he had done flooded back into the Doctor's mind, along with the Master's words to him. '_All of those people – those friends of yours. What would they think of you if they saw what you really are? A traitor. A murderer…A monster.' _He could still feel the Master's blade pierce him with each word. The worst part was not the Master's accusations, but that the Doctor had no defense against them. He told himself that he had done what was right – that the Time Lords had to be stopped, and that they were themselves the monsters. But each time he questioned himself a bit more.

"Well," The Master's voice brought his mind back to the present, "Here's your last chance to repent." He said harshly. Standing to his feet, he dragged the Doctor's necktie with him, forcing the Doctor to lift his head and stretch his neck uncomfortably. The Master continued pulling until the Doctor was forced to sit up forward on his knees, his arms still pulled behind him and his body even more exposed that before. His balance wavered as his tired muscles attempted to support him and he fought to stay up, still trying to make sense of the Master's priest-like words.

Standing now and holding the Doctor in place with his left hand, the Master addressed his captive before the room. "I will remove your chains under one condition." He announced. A sinister gleam entered the Master's eyes, and his ominous smile grew.

The Doctor swallowed hard and thought that he would rather not know what the condition was. His restraints were painful and debilitating, and he wanted nothing more than to get them off, but his heart clenched in resistance at the Master's next words.

"Confess your crimes," The Master began, still looking the Doctor in the eye. "Repent, and pledge your allegiance… to _me_." He added threateningly. Then as Lord of All, the Master lowered his right fist before the Doctor and presented him with his Gallifreyan signet ring. "Kiss it." He ordered, that his new servant might obey and somehow be forgiven his sins.

Sill chained and upon his knees, the Doctor's breath caught at the very suggestion. His eyes locked onto the ring before him. To obey would be simple. To simply lean forward and press his lips to the metal band and be released from his chains at last. But the Doctor knew that it was far more than that. To obey would be to seal his submission to the Master's tyrannical rule and testify his own defeat; it would be to recant all he had ever fought and died for, to betray all that was good and right in the world. It would be to forsake the earth and the rest of the universe, and to become a Time Lord of old once more by joining the Master in his terrible war campaign.

For a long moment the Doctor could do nothing but kneel frozen in place, staring the signet ring down. Upon it were the symbols of Gallifrey – the most glorious empire the world had ever or would ever know; the symbols of his home. They spoke of strength and power and wisdom and might. They spoke of his childhood and the Master's own. They spoke of a time when the two Time Lords had not been so different after all. But in the Doctor's eyes, they spoke something more. They spoke of pride and destruction and the disregard of all other life. They spoke of the Time War in all of its terror and unstoppable wrath. They spoke of the Time Lord's great fall; not at the hands of the Doctor or the Dalek, but at the hands of themselves. He held no hatred for the Time Lords, only remorse; remorse that they – the greatest race in history – had fallen so far and become no better than the Dalek after all.

The longer he sat there the more powerful his resolve became as he realized the true choice which he made. He would deny them again – his people, and all of their crimes. Like he had before, so long ago, he would stand up alone and fight. For the sake of all creation, and for the sake of the Time Lords themselves, he would stop this war no matter the cost. In the end, the Doctor's choice was simple. What were chains compared to what he had already done? To give in now would relieve him of no guilt or shame, but only heap more upon his head. It would take far more than chains to stop him now.

Having made his decision, the Doctor did nothing to spite the Master or dishonor the symbol of Gallifrey. He did not spit at the ring or its bearer, although he could have. He did not yell or even raise his voice. He simply lowered his head as best he could around his necktie and whispered, "No."

The Master's smile did not waiver at his words but grew. He knew which path the Doctor would choose. He knew that he would place honor above power, and mercy above strength. He would place the human race above his own people, and their lives above his. And that was his weakness. "Fine." The Master told him in what might have been a growl as he pulled his ring away. He waited a tense moment and then forcefully backhanded the Doctor across the face, letting the ring smack into his captive's right eye. "If you will not take your place as a Time Lord, you will bow with the rest of the world at my feet!" The Master thundered, yanking the Doctor's tie forward and sending the uncomfortably bound man crashing to the ground in a heap, unable to catch himself.

The Doctor let out a sharp moan as his chest and face made hard contact with the floor just beside the Master's shoes and his sore arms tugged his feet out from under him, forcing them sick awkwardly up in the air above his back.

Bending down with a satisfied grin, the Master grabbed a handful of the Doctor's messy hair and lifted his face harshly from the ground, forcing his aching back to arch and stretching his torn abdominal muscles painfully.

"And so the Oncoming Storm was cast down. And the human race with him." He pronounced passionately through a wicked smile, as if adding to the biblical story he wrote for and of himself. He released the Doctor at last, dashing his head back down upon the hard floor, then straightened up and stepped over his defeated form, rubbing his hands together happily and walking away as if he would never need to deal with the Doctor again.

"Send him away." He added flippantly to his men as he approached Lucy at the other end of the room, who alone shared his smile. She took his hand and kissed his ring before taking his arm and walking with him out the door.

For a moment, the Doctor simply lay against the cold floor, his tired body still recovering from his fall, and the Master's words ringing in his head. But the Master could say whatever he wanted, it did not change anything. By the Doctor's reckoning, it was he that had emerged victorious; for his hope lived on, despite his chains.

The Master's guards obeyed him and picked the Doctor up again by his arms, moving him back into the small tent in the corner. Although Charlie was one of them, neither spoke a word. But as they helped him back into his shelter, the Doctor felt Charlie's hand quickly press something small and warm into his own. He did not know what it was, but he grasped it tightly and made a single small nod of recognition and thanks, which Charlie mirrored as he backed away and returned to his post.

As the Doctor was left alone again in his tent he moved the small gift around in his hands behind his back, trying to figure out what it was. As he realized what he had been given, he smiled for the first time that day: It was a small metal key. And if he had to guess, he would say that it fit perfectly into the locks that bound his wrists.

He would not try it now; it would be too dangerous, and he would not be able to re-chain himself once he escaped. He needed to plan and be careful. He did not relish another night locked in his uncomfortable kneeling position, but he only had one shot to make things right. He would wait until Tish came back that night and see if he could get a message from Jack. If all went well, then tomorrow they made their first attempt to fight back.


	12. Chapter 12

_*click*_

After much twisting around of hands and blindly looking for the hole, the key finally fit into the lock, and with one turn the Doctor was free. He quickly undid the other side of the cuffs around his wrists and breathed a quiet sigh of relief as he brought his unbound hands before him at last, rubbing his red wrists gently as blood flowed back into his fingers. He rolled his shoulders and did his best to stretch his back without moving too much in his tiny tent; it would all be worthless if the Master discovered him too early. He had to be careful.

Finally released from his kneeling position, the Doctor slowly eased his feet out from under him and undid the cuffs around his ankles as quietly as he could, gasping slightly at the pleasure and pain of stretching his aching and stiff limbs after days of abuse and imprisonment. He leaned back against the wall once more and sighed in relief.

Loud music was still blasting in the room outside his tent; he was sure that the Master was out there. After the dismissal he had granted the Doctor the previous day, it suited the Master to continue to ignore the other Time Lord's presence; something that the Doctor would quickly remedy. He only hoped that the Master was not even now furthering the plans that the Doctor hoped to dely. They had to keep his attention elsewhere, and they could not let him discover their real plans.

For a moment he merely rested. It felt wonderful to simply rest; unbound and under no one's watchful eye. But he knew that he could only rest for so long. He had to stay on guard and listen for the signal. Through Tish, he and Jack had thrown together a simple enough plan. They did not need to escape; it would actually be better for the Doctor to stay aboard as far as his plans went, and Jack was not ready to leave him behind to face the Master's wrath alone.

As such, the attempt was all for show. They could not be caught too quickly or the Master would know that they were not really trying. But if they put enough thought into it, he might think he had simply outsmarted their plans. Jack would use the mid-day shift as his opportunity to slip out of his bonds, but he would be as quiet as he could in making his way down the halls and delay the sounding of any alarms as much as he was able, thus making his progress all the more threatening to those aboard once revealed. Whenever the alarm did go off, the Doctor would make his move.

He did not have much of a plan other than an all-out run for it. He was good at running, but he was still injured and in the middle of a room full of guards. He had not told them of his plans and hoped that they would continue to obey the Master and try their best to stop him. He would rather them bring him down sooner than later, and at least avert the Master's rage from falling on their innocent heads.

Breathing out another deep sigh, the Doctor took the time to look over his old wounds and assess his ability to run. It seemed forever ago that the Master had slashed his ribcage so brutally, and thanks to his Time Lord body, almost all traces of the incident were now gone; only one wound on his left side that had re-opened as the Master kicked him remained. The Marks of the Toclafane were fading, although their piercing touch still haunted his mind. His entire body still spoke strongly of his near starvation, but with Tish's help he was overcoming this as well.

His body was bruised and weak, but he was recovering. Just in time, he imagined, for it to start over again. He knew when they began planning that any action against the Master would result in more pain for him. But it was a price he was willing to pay if it would at all further the cause of the human race. He did not want to consider what awaited him after today, but he had already reassured himself that it was worth it, and Jack agreed.

He did not know what all Jack had suffered thus far; he had not seen the man for what seemed like ages. He wondered if anyone could keep track of how many times Jack had died at the Master's hands since then. The Doctor was a fast healer, but Jack was literally unbelievable in that aspect; making him an even better target than the Doctor for the Master's sick games, if that were possible.

From his place inside the tent the Doctor had no way of knowing what time it was or how soon he might hear Jack's alarm, but he had to be ready. Trying to keep quiet, he turned, hoisted himself up on his hands and knees, and crawled towards the door. The Master's music continued to play, and he could vaguely hear the Time Lord talking with his wife. However, all of this seemed drowned out by what he did not hear: An alarm. For a long moment, tense silence held the Doctor frozen in his place. Any minute now.

_*BANG*_

The sound of a gunshot rang through the halls. The Doctor gasped and held his breath for a moment as the Master's music stopped.

"_Condition red!"_ A voice called from the speaker system _"I repeat: Condition red!"_ sirens sounded and lights flashed as the Master leapt to his feet.

"What?" The Doctor heard him shout as he bounded up the stairs to the Valiant's control bridge. It was now or never; the Doctor made his move.

With speed that no one in the room could have anticipated, the presumed bound man sprang from his hiding place and made a dash for the door. His legs nearly gave out under him, but he forced them to keep going.

"Stop him!" The Master called, turning just in time to see the door open to let the Doctor out.

"Hello, Doc!" Jack Harkness smiled as he stood in the doorway and held it open for his fellow escapee. In each hand he hoisted a large automatic rifle, and with the one in his right he fired shots down the hall. He did not aim to hit anyone, just hold them off. The Doctor managed a smile in return as he darted under Jacks' arm. He was offered the other gun that Jack had stolen, but he denied it, gesturing that they flee the pack of guards now chasing them by flying down the hall.

"STOP THEM!" The Master yelled even louder and sent out a message to the guards stationed further down the hall.

"Outta' the way!" Jack shouted as he and the Doctor ran down the halls, firing a few shots at the walls as he went. Some of the pipes burst and steam and water poured out into the hall, only adding to the confusion of lights, sirens, gunshots, and shouts that filled the maze of a ship.

"Come on!" The Doctor yanked Jack down side passages and staircases with absolutely no idea where he was going. Every time he saw a guard, they switched direction. They had not actually planned this far ahead, as the Doctor had not expected Jack to be in time to open the door for him.

As they rounded another corner their flight at last came to a stop. A line of gunmen formed before them at close hand, with no side passages to take. Behind them, the sound of running feet echoed down the hall, coming quickly closer. The Doctor stopped, and Jack nearly ran into him as he fired another warning shot behind them.

He turned to see a line of seven men all aiming at him. All stood ready, but none fired. "Great." Jack hoisted his guns toward them, but they did not give way. He could easily have broken their line, but he did not want to pull the trigger.

"Jack…" The Doctor stopped him and put his hands up in surrender. Young Joshua was among their captors; perhaps the most unwilling of all. The Doctor did not relish the idea of being captive once more, but he would not have these guards take his punishment for him.

Jack sighed heavily, but complied of his own will. It had felt so good to run again; to be free of his bonds and be fighting back. But all good things must come to an end. He dropped his guns and mimicked the Doctor's sign of defeat.

"On your knees." The guard Captain ordered firmly. The two captives obeyed.

"Oh, bravo!" They heard the Master's voice call from the speaker system that stretched over the entire ship. One of the security cameras turned to face them, revealing that the Master had never left the bridge and was watching from the comfort of his laptop screen. He laughed loudly and clapped his hands. "You two are quite the team." He congratulated them "To bad your girly friend wasn't here to see you fail." He taunted as the guards came and took Jack's guns and cuffed both of the prisoners with their hands behind their backs again.

"What should we do with them, Master?" The guard Captain looked to the camera and asked. They were obviously used to dealing with their overlord's habit of conducting them from afar.

"First, I want you to shoot the freak in the head." The Master said happily, and waited for his command to be obeyed.

Jack took a deep breath and closed his eyes as the Captain raised his gun to fire at point blank range. "See ya, Doctor. Good luck." He said quickly before the sound of one last gunshot rang though the halls, silencing him.

The Doctor flinched and looked away as the bullet ripped mercilessly through Jack's skull and brain. He had no idea what that must feel like, but he knew that it was something that no man should have to experience. Jack's body fell lifelessly to the floor, red blood gushing from his huge wound. The Master seemed unfazed. "Now take him back to his cell and chain him back up."

The Captain nodded, still looking as if he completely hated himself for what he had just done. He motioned for his men to take the dead body away.

"And Captain," The Master stopped him.

"Master?" He replied, his voice quivering with fear.

"Make sure they hold him this time." The Master instructed simply. No one there wanted to know what would happen if the Captain failed.

The soldier nodded and swallowed hard. "What of the Doctor?" He asked humbly. For a long moment there was no response.

The Doctor could do nothing but glare daggers up at the camera and hope that he was looking into the Master's eyes.

"Take him back to the Paradox Machine." The Master's order came at last. The Doctor's breath caught and his eyes went wide. "I'll meet you there shortly."


	13. Chapter 13

A/N: Before I go on, I must warn you that this chapter and the one after it are among the most violent and graphic of this story, if you care. I still don't think that this warrants an "M" rating, but it may be a bit harsher than some "T" rated stuff. The Master is such a creep...

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><p>"We're really are sorry about this…" Joshua whispered in the Doctor's ear as he and another guard escorted him into the Paradox Machine. There were no cameras in the TARDIS, and the Master could not see or hear them in here. The Captain stood and guarded the door behind them. It was a post set by the Master, but he currently stood watch against his lord and would signal if the Time Lord was on his way.<p>

"It's alright. I knew something like this was coming." The Doctor nodded as Joshua quickly undid his cuffs. He rubbed his wrists once more and did his best to relax his shoulders. "I suppose you'll need to chain me back up again." He looked toward the shackles that still hung from the ceiling. They were already stained with his dried blood, and he knew that they would receive a fresh coating before the night was up.

Joshua nodded timidly, but was reluctant to follow his orders.

The Doctor took a moment to collect himself, grateful that he had a moment to spare. As the ceaseless tolling of the cloister bell filled his ears once more his mind flashed back to his time with the Toclafane, and his own wretched screams echoed in his ears. He could feel the TARDIS reaching out to him, still crying out in prolonged pain.

_It'll be alright, Old Girl_. He tried to tell her. _We'll make it through._

"Sir?" Joshua's voice brought him back to the matter at hand.

"Oh yes… here, let me…" The Doctor removed his suit jacket and tossed it aside when suddenly he had an idea. He stopped. Looking anxiously towards the door and seeing no sign of his captor, he ran to where his overcoat still lay crumpled on the ground where the guards had left it. He snatched it up and rifled through its pockets. The guards did not stop him, but grew nervous for their Master's approach.

The Doctor smiled wider than he had smiled in months as he pulled his favorite tool out of his coat pocket. "Yes!" he cheered as loudly as he dared when he grasped his sonic screwdriver once more. He kissed the tool in joy and turned back to Joshua.

"Guard this with your life." He told the man seriously. Joshua's brow knotted at the strange silver and blue device. "Keep it safe. Get it to Tish. Tell her to keep it secret. I may need it later, but the Master cannot get his hands on it. I'm surprised he doesn't already. He must think it's useless. It's not." He entrusted his sonic into the guard's hands. Joshua nodded and quickly tucked it into his chest pocket. "Now quick, before he comes." The Doctor gestured toward the shackles.

"Right…" The other guard took a hold of the chains, and Joshua took the Doctor's arm.

"Wait," The Doctor stopped him for a moment. He ripped off his tie and threw it over with his jacket, then began unbuttoning his shirt. He did not _want_ to hang unclad and defenseless in his chains, but he did not relish the idea of the Master slowly cutting him open or having him roughly stripped again. If his shirt must be removed, he would do it himself. "Alright." He handed himself over after discarding his already blood-stained shirt.

The guards were taken aback by the multitude of faded scars that criss-crossed the Doctor's chest and back; torn between shock at the amount he had already suffered and amazement that he had already healed so much from the bleeding mess that had been dragged before them several days before. They tried to hide their shock as they begrudgingly locked him into place, but both did a poor job.

A quiet tap from the Captain came on the door behind them. The Master was now only just down the hall.

"Thank you." The Doctor told them earnestly. He really did want to thank them for the time they had given him and their kind treatment, plus the opportunity that he might use his sonic screwdriver once more.

"Y-you're welcome Doctor…" Joshua stammered.

"We're sorry…" The other guard put in as the two turned and went out the door. The Master stationed them just outside of it and sent the Captain back to his duties. They looked to each other in honest worry as the Master entered the Paradox Machine and shut the TARDIS door behind him.

"Ah, Doctor…" The Master turned to his captive with a growing smile.

The Doctor stood strongly in his place. His arms were chained out to his sides again and he was utterly unprotected, but he stood tall and silent, looking straight into the Master's eyes. There was no hatred to be found in the Master's gaze; only pleasure: The twisted yet absolutely delighted kind of despotic pleasure that only he was capable of. The Doctor, on the other hand, did his best to hide the dread that filled his hearts. Weakness and strength mixed in his gaze as peace strove to outshine fear. It was a losing battle.

"I'm a bit disappointed in you, to tell the truth." The Master mocked a frown as he approached. "I thought you'd make it a _little_ farther in your escape. It took you long enough." He laughed and slapped a hand on the Doctor's bare shoulder. His captive did his best to seem unfazed as the Master continued. "And now you've gone and beat me to the fun part…" He chided. His morbid grin grew as he placed his hand against the Doctor's bare side. The Doctor stiffened as the Master ran his fingers over the lingering scars of their last encounter in the Paradox Machine. "I'll have to punish you _personally_ this time. It seems my lovely children did not do nearly enough." The Master emphasized the word '_Personally_' as he moved both of his hands to hold his captive uncomfortably close and smiled triumphantly as the Doctor squirmed helplessly in his grasp. If the Doctor had meant to escape this discomfort by saving the Master from the task of removing his shirt, he would not let him get away with it.

"Stop it." The Doctor ordered at last. He did not want to play games.

"Shhh…" The Master whispered, leaning closer. "Not to worry..." He released his captive at last. "I've got some other fun planned for us."

Fear and dread rose like a tight ball in the Doctor's chest with each of the Master's words. He held his breath as the other Time Lord reached behind his back and removed something that he had been hiding in his belt.

"I got this for you…" Evil enjoyment grew ever more present in the Master's eyes as he pulled from behind his back a large black lash: Nine pieces of thick, knotted leather that came together to form an even thicker heavy handle. Sharp pieces of metal were tied into each of its destructive thongs, the better to destroy whatever it touched.

The Master grinned widely as he shook it out. "It's never been used." He pointed out proudly, as if the Doctor should be impressed or even thankful. "I thought I'd test it out. I hope you don't mind." The Master laughed as he walked behind the Doctor, still shaking out his new toy with an amused grin. "I've always wanted to try this…"

The Doctor had not. He swallowed hard.

"If you're ready…" The Master called happily. The Doctor did not respond. He clamped his eyes shut and tried to focus on keeping his breathing in check. He could do this. He breathed in deeply and tried to concentrate on Martha and Tish and Jack and the planet below him. But nothing could prepare him for the pure torture of the cat-o-nine's touch.

The Doctor cried out in sharp, bloodcurdling agony as the lash ripped into his already hurting back, tearing his flesh apart. The Master laughed loudly as his lash drew its first blood.

"Haha! This is _good_!" He swung again and the Doctor arched his back away in pain but could not escape. He screamed again, trying and failing to keep control of his tormented outbursts. He did not want to give the Master the response the he desired, but it could not be helped now.

"HAH!" The Master cheered again as Time Lord blood sprayed the TARDIS walls and floor. "I should have thought of this sooner…" He said happily as his whip curled around the Doctor's skinny frame, ripping his shoulders, back, and sides to shreds for the second time during his stay, eliciting shout after terrible shout in pained protest.

Tears formed and fell from the Doctor's eyes as his body was slowly beaten into the darkest depths of misery. The Master's onslaught was tireless and his laughter just as insatiable. Soon both of them were covered in bright crimson stains, but the Master did not stop. With each stroke he gained more power, with each pitiful yelp of agony he elicited more pleasure, and each time the Doctor cried and begged him to stop he grew more pleased to go on. Perhaps when both of his arms grew tired, then he would stop. Perhaps when the Doctor was on the verge of death and almost ready to regenerate, then he would consider it. But for now it was far more fun to simply hear the Doctor scream.


	14. Chapter 14

(NOTE: I've had some technical difficulties uploading this. It worked in the live preview, but apparently didn't actually upload last night. I'm sorry that I did not notice this until just now. I hope I've fixed it! sorry for the delay it caused! - And thus begins finals week here at the University...)

A/N: This is my moment in which to say "I warned you". I warned you that this chapter was among the most graphic, and I warned you that although this is NOT slash the Master is quite comfortable in making the Doctor VERY uncomfortable. Sorry if this makes any of YOU uncomfortable... ok, maybe I'm not. I kinda got some of this from the "Criminal Minds" season 5 episode 1... if anyone cares.

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><p>The Doctor's body crashed, limp and nearly lifeless, to the floor. A drawn out moan escaped his lips as his head thudded against the hard metal grating and darkness strove to claim his vision one more. Warm, sticky blood flowed freely from his freshly lacerated back and dripped down onto the TARDIS' engines below. Even now he could hear the ship calling out to him; she could feel his pain, but in her captive state she could do nothing to help.<p>

The room spun around him in a hot, red blur as he forced his eyes open. The air was thick and warm, and even his unmarred flesh seemed just as damp and sticky with sweat as the skin that had been ripped and torn was wet with blood. If there was any skin left on his back at all, it could not be seen through the flood of crimson that poured from his many wounds. His two hearts beat slowly and erratically in his chest; one of them all but stopped completely as his body fought to keep some last reserve of lifeblood within his veins and not on the floor. His breath came in shallow, shaky grasps, few and far between, and his mind had nearly shut down.

As his tired eyes struggled to stay open, he looked to his left hand where it lay on the ground beside his face. He felt certain that any moment it would begin to glow; the first sign of his regeneration. Something in the back of his mind yelled in indignation. It was not fair. He did not want to go; not this time, not again, and not at the hands of the Master. But his body screamed to be released from life – that he might be healed and strengthened once more. He could take no more abuse. If death was the only solution then let it come quickly.

"You know it won't work." The Master's voice, steady and unbothered, came from above him. His foot descended upon the Doctor's left wrist, pinning it down before him. True to his word, it did not display the faintest sign of any impending regeneration.

"I told you." The Master continued as he threw the bloody lash down, "As a Time Lord, I know _exactly_ how much you can take." He smiled delightedly, looking over the job he had done in destroying the Doctor's back; his latest masterpiece. "I can't have you dying on me. Besides, I like this regeneration of yours." He said dangerously and bent down to inspect it, running his already blood stained hand over the wounds. They dug dangerously deep into the Doctor's flesh, but the Master was smart and skilled with the lash; he had not torn so deep as to endanger the Doctor's life, just enough to make him wish that he had. Given the proper care his Time Lord body heal quickly, no matter how close to death he felt right now. However the Master had no intention of giving him the full care he needed. He would keep him captive from death, but healing was up to him.

The Doctor groaned once more as the Master took hold of his shoulder, painfully pressuring his fresh wounds, and forcibly turned him first onto his side, and then onto his bleeding back. The Doctor grimaced and grit his teeth to keep from crying out as his terribly mutilated flesh was pressed against the hard metal grating of the TARDIS floor. The Master's devilish smile only grew.

Panting for breath, the Doctor's body trembled in shock from blood loss. "Please…" he mumbled incoherently, "…N-No more." He begged. The Master smiled at him as if smiling at a small child who had just asked to stay up five more minutes past bedtime.

"Now, Doctor." He addressed the barely conscious man. As he spoke he knelt down beside his captive and leaned over him, his left hand resting beside the Doctor's head. The Doctor was barely aware of his own motion as his captor moved his arms into place by his sides. The Master next moved to straddle the Doctor; pinning his arms to his sides with his knees, he sat on the Doctor's exposed stomach, adding to the terrible weight that pressed his fresh wounds into the floor and trapping the immobilized man helpless underneath him.

The Doctor let out a noiseless cry of agony at the added pressure, his face contorting into a mask of inescapable pain.

The Master smiled sadistically as he leaned over his captive and placed a gentle hand to his cheek, staining the Doctor's face with his own blood. "Perhaps this has taught you a lesson." He said softly, stroking his thumb against the Doctor's warm, trembling face with pleasure. The Doctor gasped for breath underneath him, no longer able to support the weight holding him down.

The Doctor shifted beneath his captor as best he could, trying to turn his face away and escape the Master's hand, but it was no use. The Master's smile deepened as he felt the Doctor's discomfort. He moved his hand down his captive's neck and trailed his fingers across his exposed chest with a wicked grin. The Doctor's skin crawled at his touch and every fiber of his being screamed for him to escape and get away. "Stop." He managed to choke out at last, squirming uncomfortably under the Master's hand in unwanted physical contact.

"Hmm?" The Master laughed, placing his hand behind his ear in mockery. "What was that?"

"Please, Master…" The Doctor breathed out. "Just… listen." He panted and coughed.

The Master grinned at the Doctor's begging and decided to humor him. He placed his hand behind the Doctor's head and lifted it up slightly, leaning in even closer so that he could hear the desperate request.

"You can stop this…" The Doctor gasped, "All of this." He said, speaking as quickly as he could in order to get his message out before the Master cut him off again and doing his best to ignore the uncomfortable position he was held in. "You don't have to do this." He gasped, "I can… help."

The Master shook his head in amusement with a small laugh. He pulled the Doctor up even closer, causing his spine to arch painfully and his injured abdomen to tighten in strained effort. Gritting his teeth again, he moaned sharply as the last of his air was forced from his lungs. His vision was fading and his body shook and trembled in earnest as the Master lifted him up but forced him to support himself.

"I know." The Time Lord whispered. The Doctor's brow creased in bewilderment and sorrow at his words. "I know I don't _have_ to." The Master smiled as he explained, pulling the Doctor even closer until their faces were inches apart. "I _want_ to."

The Doctor's eyes looked deep into those of his captor, and at last he saw that there was nothing he could ever say or do to change the Master's mind. He had known the truth for some time, but had steadfastly denied it – searching for some good left in his old enemy and one-time friend. But as he saw him now, the Doctor saw that there was nothing good left in his heart; only madness and evil. He could not be reasoned with and would not be deterred. There was only one thing that could save the Master now, and that was to forcibly stop him. The Doctor could only pray that it would be enough.

Above him, the Master gloried in the look of pure and utter hopeless dejection that came upon the Doctor's face. For a moment he did nothing but hold him there, reveling in the Doctor's misery and delighting in his broken, humiliated, helpless form. The Doctor had brought this upon himself. He had chosen the path of powerlessness, and the Master had chosen the path of power. This was each of their reward, it was as simple as that. Soon the Master would rule the galaxies – the Lord of so much more than time – and the once-great Doctor would sit at feet and watch, powerless to stop him. And it was no one but his own fault.

At last, the Master released his captive. The Doctor's head fell painfully back to the floor, slamming the bruise that had already formed there. He could feel blood on the back of his neck, but his body was growing numb. As the Master stood to his feet and stepped to open the TARDIS door the Doctor gasped in breath but did not even have the strength to cough. He lay motionless on the floor sinking quickly into the deeper stages of shock, his eyes fluttering closed. He wished for unconsciousness to take him, but he was granted no such reprieve.

"Bring him." The Master ordered the two guards standing outside the door, who quickly stepped inside and approached the Doctor. He could practically hear their mental apologies as they forced themselves to pry him from the ground, draping his arms around their shoulders and half dragging, half carrying him out of the TARDIS. The Doctor's head lolled forward and he let his feet drag. It hurt to be supported again by his tired, aching, torn arms, but he had neither the strength nor willpower to make himself walk. "Follow me." The Master said next as he picked up the discarded lash, and his guards obeyed with the Doctor in tow.


	15. Chapter 15

A/N: I forgot to post this a few chapters back, but we're halfway through! I'd like to say thank you SO MUCH for all of your reviews. They really do mean the world to me. Also: To Amour en Rayures: Good luck on your Chemistry Final!

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><p>A few moments later the Master burst through the doors back into the main control room of the Valiant; his entrance triggering loud music that blasted through the speakers overhead accompanied by a recorded message shouting in his own voice: "<em>Citizens rejoice! Your Lord and Master reigns on high."<em>

"Haha!" The Master cheered at his own name and at the fear in everyone's eyes. His shirt was soaked in bright red blood and he still played with the dripping lash in his hands. Even Lucy seemed terrified of him this time, all of which made the Master smile wider.

Collective gasps filled the room as the Doctor was dragged in behind him. The guards and servants did their best to hide their concern but few of them were able. The Master shot them all a threatening grin as he marched in his prisoner.

Captain Jack had recovered and was held kneeling in the corner surrounded by four guards, his hands chained behind him. "Doctor…" his mouth fell open in disbelief as his friend was dragged past. He had never seen the Doctor in this bad of shape. It was a wonder that he had any blood left to bleed.

In the other corner, Letita Jones stood with her hands over her mouth, tears forming in her eyes.

"Put him down over here." The Master gestured, and the Doctor was soon lying on the floor again at the Master's feet. For a moment the whole room seemed to hold its breath. Everyone wanted to speak up any say something on the Doctor's behalf, but no one could.

At last, the Master broke their silence. "Here is your precious Doctor." He spat the name with ironic pleasure. "The great and mighty Doctor!" He scoffed, nearly laughing again at the room's reaction.

The Doctor barely had enough strength to groan in response as unconsciousness fought to fully claim him at last.

"This is what happens to people that stand against me." The Master declared. He knew full well that the entire ship was full of those ready to betray him at their first chance. Because that was what the human race was. But he could bend them to his will and be their Master, whether they liked it or not. The defeat of their Doctor – their 'hero' – was a perfect example to set them all on the path of his will. "Do you understand?" He asked loudly.

"Yes, Master." The Captain of the guard was the first to respond, and his agreement was echoed and murmured throughout the room. Only Jack and the Doctor stayed silent.

"Good." The Master told them simply and firmly. He stepped carelessly over the Doctor's body and headed for the door. Lucy ran after him and took his arm, trying her best to stay in his good graces.

The Master stopped in front of Jack. He smiled. "Be glad my arm is tired." He brought up the whip in his hand and lifted Jack's chin with its blood covered handle. "You'll get the same tomorrow night." He threatened with a dark smile.

"I look forward to it." Jack spat defiantly, glaring up at him.

The Master's smiled faded. "Get him out of here." He ordered, and Jack was quickly taken from the room and forced down the hall.

"What of the Doctor, Sir?" The guard Captain asked hesitantly as the Master walked out the door. The Master stopped and turned back to the room. Not a soul had dared move to help the Doctor. His bleeding body lay lifeless on the floor.

"I don't care." He said coldly. "Just make sure he does not escape again." His threat turned into a strange smile in a mood swing that only the Master could understand.

"Yes sir." The Captain nodded, keeping his eyes down.

As the door shut behind the Master, Tish was the first to run to the Doctor's side.

"Doctor!" She cried, tears already streaming down her face as she dropped to her knees beside him. She pressed her hand to his jaw, searching for a pulse. "Oh please be alright…" She mumbled. But she knew that he was not alright. "Mum, help me!" She called to her mother who still stood in the corner. "Get first aid or something!"

"Here," Joshua ran up the stairs and retrieved a first aid box from one of the airship pilots. He opened it and handed Tish a large roll of bandages, joining her at the Doctor's side.

"Oh if only Martha were here…" Tish muttered and she struggled with the medical supplies, afraid to even touch the Doctor's back.

The Doctor was fully unconscious by now and could not even respond to their administrations. Tish's mother eventually came to help, along with Charlie, who helped hold the Doctor up as they wrapped cloths around his bloody chest and abdomen. The Scott was practically seething in rage at the Master, and it was a feeling shared by the entire crew.

The Doctor finally began to stir as Tish was wrapping his left shoulder. He let out a soft moan that Tish interpreted as a pained '_No' _but actually came out more like the mumbled word "_Ros_e".

"It's alright, Doctor. Shh." Tish tore the bandage and tucked in the end. She could only hope that she was doing a sufficient job. They had tried to clean the wounds as best they could, and she was glad that the Doctor had been unconscious for that. No one in the room had any proper medical training besides basic first aid, but the crew had done their best.

"M-Martha?" The Doctor stuttered and attempted to force his eyes open. It did not work.

"No, it's Tish. And mum and Josh and Charlie."

The Doctor did his best to nod. It took him a moment to remember where he was and who the others were. He felt someone holding him up as gently as was possible with his severely injured back. He felt Tish wrap the last of the bandages around his right shoulder.

"Th…Thank…" The Doctor's mind was slipping in and out of the realm of consciousness.

"Shh." Tish told him. She sounded so much like Martha. "Rest if you can. I'll see about getting you a shirt." The Doctor's head fell forward in a semi nod. Tish stood, and Charlie and Joshua worked to carefully carry the Doctor back towards his small tent.

He fell asleep again almost the moment that they set him down. It would be several hours before he opened his eyes again, and several days before he could properly move, but he was determined to carry on.


	16. Chapter 16

Bright, white sunlight streamed down to warm the Doctor's face as he slowly blinked his eyes open. For one shining moment he could not remember where he was. Perhaps this was what it was like to have truly died at last. The cloth he lay on felt somehow softer than normal, and his numb body did not at first register anything but the gentle warmth of dawn.

With one move of his shoulder the moment ended and the spell was broken. Fiery pain shot up his back at even the smallest motion and memory came spilling back into his weary mind. Perhaps it might have been better if he had died after all.

He moaned softly as he carefully felt-out the extent of his wounds. Even moving his head took great effort, and moving his shoulders was nearly out of the question, as the torn muscles in his back grew stiff and resisted his every move. It amazed him to realize how much he actually used the muscles of his back without ever noticing it. After the touch of the Master's lash, he now distinctly felt every single muscle and nerve in his back, and each of them screamed for him to let them be. For a while, this was possible; the Doctor lay still, unchained and undisturbed, alone in his tent in the warm light of morning.

Abandoning the use of his injured body, he turned his efforts back to penetrating the archangel network. It was a psychic field never intended for his use; in fact it was specifically tailored to block him out. The network was designed for the Master and the human race alone. However, the more the Doctor focused on the telepathic field, the more he felt it enter his mind and his mind enter it.

At first he entered the matrix as an innocent bystander; just like the entire earth had been taken in upon the network's inception. From this point, he could slowly work up a stronger and stronger awareness of the network and its signals. With the help of Martha and the entire human race, the Doctor knew that his Time Lord mind could eventually take the Master's place at the network's head and undo its power. But that was a time far off, and he had to be careful to disguise his progress from the Master's own control of the psychic field.

That was why he and Jack had made their bold escape attempt. And it would not be the last. They had to make the Master think that he was in control and that he knew all of their plans. They had to play along, and had to do it well. The Master was not easily deceived, but he was easily entertained. And so the Doctor would play his games; he would submit to the Master's will, but resist just enough that his captor did not begin to wonder if there was indeed a deeper plot in the Doctor's mind.

It was all a game to him, and the Doctor knew it. He could still hear the sadistic joy in the Master's laughter ringing through his ears even as the lash tore deeper and deeper into his back, pouring blood onto his captor's hands. The Master took true pleasure in his game; he took pleasure in winning. It gave him power, and power was what he needed more than anything else. Perhaps that was what everyone wanted, or perhaps it was just that he might drown out the drumming in his head. The Doctor did not know; all he knew was that he must feed the Master's thirst for control. If he could keep him confident he could keep him from investigating. And if he could do that, his plans for the network might work after all.

But no matter how many times the Doctor repeated this truth to himself and thought again over his plans, he could do nothing to make them any more bearable. It was not a simple thing to bow to the Master's will; he did not need any more evidence of how painful it could be. He constantly reminded himself that it would be worth it in the end, and that more drastic measures would only make things worse. But each time the Master denied his pleas and reasoning, and each time that evil gleam came back into his eye, the Doctor wondered it would make any difference in the end. But he had to believe that he could succeed. He would stop the Master and save the earth. And he would be the last of the Time Lords no more.

The Doctor tried to keep focused on this goal as his resolve was put to the test again. He heard the loud announcement from the speakers as the Master entered the room, and the blasting music that followed. He knew it would only be a moment until he was summoned.

The Master knew full well that the Doctor was practically unable to move after his lashing, but it did not stop him from ringing his hand bell; perhaps only to emphasize his opponent's powerlessness. He then leapt down the stairs and came to the Doctor's small quarters, dancing all the way.

"Morning!" He shouted gleefully as he dropped down to his hands and knees and stuck his head inside the Doctor's tent. His captive made no response and continued with his best impersonation of a man asleep. The Master paid his lack of response little heed and instead took it upon himself to wake the sleeper up; grabbing him by his ankles and physically pulling him out of his bed.

The Doctor groaned loudly as his tired body was dragged across the floor, the muscles in his back stretching painfully with the movement of his legs and arms. The Master laughed and stood to his feet, motioning for his guards to do the rest of the work by lifting the Doctor into a nearby chair that the Master retrieved from the corner.

The Doctor cried out in protest as they lifted him, as gently as they could, off of the floor. His back and arms screamed in excruciating pain as he crashed back into the chair; the little energy he had was fully spent.

"How are we feeling today?" The Master was at once by his side. The Doctor merely closed his eyes and did his best to relax in his chair and ignore his captor. He could feel a slight fever rising in his tortured body, and the unnatural heat only sapped his strength all the more.

"I see your 'friends' took care of you…" The Master noted, looking over the bandages that covered his captive's entire chest and midsection and wrapped about his shoulders. "Funny, I thought maybe your example might teach them who they should obey." He laughed humorlessly. "Stupid apes never learn." He scoffed. Still the Doctor did not respond.

The Master frowned and stopped for a moment, examining the Doctor with a feigned look of concern. However his façade quickly melted and was replaced with his normal amusement once more as he took a hold of the Doctor's chair and turned it quickly around. The Doctor was at first shocked to feel himself moving and his eyes shot back open as he braced himself. The Master had placed him in a wheelchair; perhaps to mock his immobility, perhaps for the simple joy of being about to push the Doctor around on it. He laughed and shoved them forward, riding with his foot on the back of the chair like a schoolboy on a shopping cart.

The Doctor gripped the chair arms as best he could as they turned quickly around the long table in the middle of the room and came at last to a stop on the other side. "That was fun!" The Master cheered, but still his captive did not reply. "Oh, come on, that was fun, wasn't it?" He came back down to the Doctor's level once more.

The Doctor merely stared past him. He did not want to play this game. He knew that he must, but he did not have to like it.

"Wasn't it?" The Master said again, trying to force eye contact with his captive. "No?" He asked, waving his hand before the Doctor's eyes. "Anything?"

At last the Doctor slowly lifted his tired eyes to meet those of his captor. He looked into them for a long moment, wondering if it was worth it; perhaps the Master was not worth saving after all. But he would try one more time.

"If only you would listen…" He managed to moan, just in time for the Master's harsh and immediate reply.

The back of the Master's hand collided swiftly and powerfully with the Doctor's face, slamming him back down once more with such force that lights flashed before his eyes and he gasped in shock.

"Anything _else_, Doctor?" The Master growled threateningly.

The Doctor sighed heavily and retreated back to his thoughts. He was tired. He was so tired. Tired of everything; tired of living, tired of fighting, tired of running. He was tired from being beaten within an inch of his life, but most devastatingly, he was tired of his last hopes being shot to the ground. He was tired of being alone. He was a fool for holding out hope that the Master would ever listen, but he had to. Even now, something in him did not want to give up. They were the last Time Lords left. And it was all the Doctor's fault.

He knew he had to stop him, and he had to save him. But there was nothing he could do. The Master would never listen, no matter how hard he tried. All that was left was to continue the plan; to integrate with the Archangel network and delay the Master's plans as long as he could; to buy Martha time and put his faith in her. With careful planning and more than a bit of luck, together they could bring the Master down. But then what? What happened after they saved the earth?

The Doctor knew what the others would say. It was obvious: The Master must be destroyed. He was too powerful, too dangerous, and he was completely insane. He was guilty of the most heinous crime that the Earth had ever seen. The Doctor could not deny any of the Master's crimes, but he could not allow the last other Time Lord to perish.

If anyone had a right to hate the Master, it was the Doctor. His aching back screamed in anguished testimony to the Master's evil works, and even now his head rang from the hard punch he had just received. His heart broke for the planet below and the ever growing tide of innocent blood. His mind echoed with the cries of his beloved TARDIS, along with the plight of every poor soul aboard the Valiant, not to mention the Toclafane themselves. There was no denying the Master's evil deeds. But perhaps he did not need to.

As he sat, stricken, in his chair, he determined that there was only one thing he could do. He would not allow himself to fall into hate. There were no answers in hate, only despair and destruction. He knew that full well. He had watched hate destroy people, planets, entire races and worlds. He had seen hate destroy the Time Lords themselves. The Doctor knew that his hate would not destroy the Master; it would only destroy himself. It was the Time Lord's and the Master's place to hate and destroy. It was the Doctor's place to love and to save. And it always would be.

The Doctor knew what the Master wanted of him; he wanted him to become angry and retaliate. He wanted him to play the Master's game. But this was one game that the Doctor would not play. Beaten and bleeding as he was, the more the Doctor thought about it, the more he knew what must be done. There was only one choice to be made. It would not be easy, but it would be right. A new fire seemed to light in his heart as the realization dawned in his mind. There was only one thing that could save the Master and the Doctor now, and it was something fully within his grasp.

After all of the terror, and all of the pain, and all of the blood, there was only one response. After watching mankind be crushed by the last tormented remnants of their own race, after everything that the Master had done, there was only one thing that the Doctor could do that would be worth it. It was a choice that would raise the Doctor to a height which the Master could never achieve; one far more powerful than the Archangel network could make either of them. And he knew that it would crush the Master like nothing else: He would forgive him. And he would mean it.

It was the only way out of the Master's game and the only way to save them both from themselves. The Doctor would look past the trespasses and the tortures and seek his enemy's benefit before his own. He would sacrifice everything to bring the Master's reign of terror to an end; even if it meant laying down his pride and any right to justice that he and the whole world had. He would stand tall upon his moral high ground and stand against the Time Lords' ways once more. Instead of condemning, he would forgive. He would repay evil with good and replace the Master's despair with hope. The more the Doctor thought about forgiving the Master, the more he realized that he already had.

Through forgiveness right would always prevail and love would never fail. No matter how hopeless it seemed, he knew that this must be true. Because forgiveness was one thing that the Master could not control, no matter how hard he tried. It was the one thing that went against all worldly reason and self-serving ends, and it was the one thing with the power to bring the Master down. By honestly forgiving him, the Doctor knew that he would bring his enemy down to a place where he could no longer stand. In the face of mercy, the Master would crumble. And perhaps – just perhaps – the Time Lords could be saved. If he could ever forgive himself for the Time War, he knew he must forgive the Master now.

"Doctor?" The Master's voice brought his mind back to the matter at hand.

The Doctor slowly raised his head to meet the Master's eyes at last. In them he saw power and hatred and spite; everything that he must deny. He challenged them with his own piercing gaze, and the Master's brow knotted at the new look of hope and defiance in his captive's eyes.

"You can beat me all you want…" The Doctor told him hoarsely, his voice betraying his own weakness. "It won't make a difference." He coughed and did not bother to wipe the blood from his chin that drained from his mouth after the Master's latest assault had broken his lip.

The Master smiled devilishly at the blatant denial in the Doctor's voice. He knew it was all a mask to hide his pair of broken, defeated hearts.

"Doctor…" He addressed him quietly, leaning over to be at eye level with his captive once more. "It already has." He whispered. But he was wrong. He misunderstood. He always would.

And then the Doctor did something that the Master could not believe: He smiled. Weak though his smile was, there remained no pain in his eyes; only true, heartfelt sympathy: Sympathy for the man before him who had traded everything for power, including the ability to love, to forgive, and to understand mercy. The Master may have had more power, influence, and control than anyone else in the world. He may have had the power to do absolutely anything he wanted. He may have been a god in his own eyes. But he would never be able to do the only thing that the Doctor had the power left to do; he could never know the peace that came with forgiveness.

The Master stared for a moment in disgusted disbelief before he turned away in anger, shoving the Doctor's wheelchair into the corner and doing his best to ignore what he had just seen.

The Doctor watched in silence as the Master went back to his work aboard the Valiant; he was sailing her around the globe, commanding the entire planet as one huge weapons factory, with the human race as his slaves. The Doctor was truly horrified by his actions, and he could never condone them in any way. But the Master he forgave: Not because he deserved it, but precisely because he did not.


	17. Chapter 17

The Doctor did not see Tish again for several nights, foremost because they did not know what new security measures the Master would put in place after this first escape attempt, and also because she knew that the Doctor needed his rest above all else after receiving such grievous injury. The Master allowed him to eat like a normal person now that he was confined to his wheelchair, so she no longer needed to sneak him meals during the night.

However the Master had done very little as far a security went. It was as if he wanted them to try and escape again. The Doctor knew that he did: It was all part of the game. The more they fought the more he won, and the more he won the more confident he became. The Doctor knew that they would have to try again, and he knew that they would once again fail.

Nevertheless, he had asked Tish to meet him again that night and discuss, and had asked the guards to help prop him against the back wall of his tent instead of laying him on the floor to sleep.

His back still pained him terribly and he shifted uncomfortably as he slumped against the wall, trying to absorb the load with his elbows, hands, and the back of his head in order to keep pressure off of his still torn shoulders and ribs. It had been nearly two weeks, but he was not healing as fast as he had before. He had grown tired of fighting and had settled in for the long run. It was as if his body knew that the faster it healed, the sooner the next round of punishment would come.

The night was quiet and cool, and the Doctor allowed his mind to clear and his eyes to close as he waited for his visitor. Just as he was beginning to drift to sleep, he was reawakened by the rustling of fabric as the tent door opened before him.

His eyes opened slowly even in the darkness and he did his best to smile as Tish crawled inside his small abode. Crossing his legs to give her more space, he nodded a silent greeting.

"Doctor." She addressed him with a similar nod. She had not brought a tray with her, as he had already eaten, but what she had brought was far more valuable. Nevertheless, her first concern was still his wellbeing. "How are you feeling?" she asked, already knowing the answer.

He had been given a clean shirt – one from his own wardrobe, which the Master had found aboard the TARDIS, and she could not see the blood-stained bandages that wrapped him, but she knew they were there. His face was stoic against the pain, but she could only image how much those terrible wounds still hurt.

"I'm alright." He said in short. He was always alright. "And you?"

"Well, I'm not the one who was…" Tish could not bring herself to finish the sentence. She did not even know how to address such brutality as what the Master had done, not only to the Doctor, but to Jack, and to the entire world. The Doctor simply watched her as fear, worry, and anger all made their way through her eyes. As they finally rose to meet his own, she was struck by the deep sense of peace that settled comfortably in his gaze. "I-I'm alright." She answered his question at last, her own voice betraying the hypocrisy of her words.

The Doctor smiled grimly at the vain irony of their greeting; both knew that the other was anything but alright, but neither wished to say it. For a moment they simply sat in silence, both somehow happier in the company and support of another captive and suffering soul. At last, the Doctor moved on to the matter at hand.

"Did you speak with Joshua?" He asked in a low tone. "Do you have it?"

"Oh!" Tish snapped out of her silent musings and reached at once into the pocket of the dark servant's dress she wore. In a moment, she had pulled out a small metal device. "You mean this?"

"Yes!" A large smile washed over the Doctor's face at once and he forced himself off of the wall and into a sitting position as she offered the device to him. He took it into this hands with a special kind of reverence and fondness, and Tish could tell at once that whatever it was, it would help save them.

She could not help smiling herself as she watched him handle it; he was obviously very familiar with it, and he slipped it open and closed, but did not push the other buttons. "Um… What is it?" She asked at last.

"Oh, sorry…" The Doctor finally looked up. "It's my sonic screwdriver." He said with a grin, having completely forgotten his pained back.

Tish's expression did not change, but if anything grew more puzzled.

"It's a… tool… for doing… uh... stuff…" the Doctor informed her slowly, himself sounding puzzled as he tried to explain it. "It is _very _good at opening doors…" He added, and Tish seemed at least a bit more satisfied with the answer.

"What do we do with it?" Tish's confusion grew no less as the Doctor began to quietly pulse a little blue light on the end of the screwdriver. It may have been dim, but it lit up the tent like lightening, and was accompanied by a strange buzzing that sounded frighteningly loud in the comparative silence. He slid it open again and looked it over, and held it up to his ear and buzzed it once more.

"We open doors." He answered at last, looking up at her as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, while still holding the sonic by his ear. She rolled her eyes, but he continued. "This should be right; setting 42-Alpha." He tested it once more, looking it over. "Whatever our plans are, this should be a big help. But we will probably only get one shot at it, as I'd imagine the Master won't be giving it back once we're caught." He said quickly. He did not want to think about losing his sonic screwdriver so soon, but if it would help them it would be worth it. He was determined to save the TARDIS, and he could make another screwdriver if the need arose.

"Um, Doctor, about that…" Tish said hesitantly.

"Hm?" He looked up again from his fond handling of his favorite tool.

"About the next escape attempt;" She clarified, "Jack said… He said he wanted to get out."

The Doctor looked confused. "Well of course, that's what 'escape attempt' means…"

"No, Doctor. _Out_." Tish bit her lip awkwardly and continued. "Not an attempt – he wants to escape."

"What?" The Doctor's brow knotted in shock and confusion, his left eyebrow raised in bewilderment.

"I know, that's what I told him." Tish answered calmly. "But he thinks it's the only way to let the Master think we're serious and keep him distracted like you said…"

"He might be right…" The Doctor mused aloud, his brow still knotted. "It's crazy – all his plans are crazy – but maybe…" He nervously fiddled with his sonic screwdriver as he went on. "It will take time. He'll need to know floor plans, and we'll need a distraction for the guards and…" The Doctor stopped and looked back up at her as if she had answers, the same shocked disbelief still etched upon his face.

"He does know that we're on an airship, right? I mean you can't just… jump… off…" Horror washed over the Doctor's face as he finished. "Oh no." His all-to understanding eyes widened in disbelief. "He wouldn't." He gasped, but Tish did not understand. A moment later his shocked expression melted into what was somewhere between a sigh and a laugh. "He would, wouldn't he?" The Doctor shook his head.

"What is it, Doctor? What's he going to do?" Tish felt completely lost now; she had no clue what either the Doctor or Jack was planning, all she knew is that she could not see a way out of the Master's grasp.

"Something Impossible." The Doctor responded firmly. "He's going to escape the Valiant in a way that only Captain Jack Harkness can."


	18. Chapter 18

A/N: I ALMOST for forgot to post this in all the Christmas hullabaloo - sorry about that. Presents, and the new special! fun stuff! So although I technically am not late, happy boxing day, I guess. Also, this chapter is the only chapter in the story with a scene divider in it. that's what the little -o-o-o-o- thing is... I'm sure you'll understand when you get there. I hope you have fun reading this one, I certainly had fun writing it. (Also, forgive me if I don't do Jack justice. I've never watched Torchwood, so I've only DW to go on.)

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><p>Adrenaline rushed like fire into his veins, pumping his legs forward faster and faster towards his goal. His heart rate sky rocketed and his each and every sense heightened as he sprinted down the dark hallways. Shouts and gunfire rang around him, alarms sounding at every door. He let out a loud laugh as he passed them by. No one was stopping him now.<p>

Every cell of his being gloried in wondrous freedom as he turned sharply down the maze-like passage and slammed into another door. He raised the sonic screwdriver in his hand and quickly undid the lock. The door burst open, slamming straight into a guard who stood at the ready on the other side. He knocked the young man down and vaulted over him, darting down the next hall without looking back. Only three doors left. He had his escape route committed to memory.

Bullets whizzed past his head, rupturing the pipes in the walls and adding to the confusion of the poorly lit labyrinth by spewing water and other fluids onto the metal grate floor and filling the already humid air with hot steam. Slamming through the next door, he paused to lock it behind him with the sonic but he knew it would not keep them long. It was only one more passage now, and then the airlock and the long dart to freedom. That was when things really got tricky. He could only pray that he would make it across the wide, open expanse. Then came the fun part.

"Stop him!" he heard for the billionth time, and the sound of his pursuers grew ever louder.

"Lock the door!" He heard another shout. He smiled: As if that could stop him.

Raising the screwdriver once more before him, Captain Jack Harkness blasted their locks open and bodily slammed through the door with a shout of triumph. He did not wait for the pressure seal, but broke directly through the last door. He let out another victorious laugh as he was blown against the wall by the harsh wave of cold, fresh air that met him. Inhaling deeply, he looked out at last into the sunlit world before him. This was it. He could see his goal meters away. Nothing stood between him and it but his own fear and common sense. Something in the back of his mind shouted at him that this was crazy and that he had to stop, but he had stopped listening long ago. He did not have time to be afraid. There was no turning back now.

Letting out another berserker yell, Jack launched himself out into the light. Freezing winds whipped around him, almost knocking him over, but he pushed himself forward. Behind him the guards opened fire from their machine guns, sweeping the tarmac behind and before him, but he would not let them stay his path. It was only across the runway now, and he was free.

Jack's vision narrowed into a tunnel before him and he ran as no one had ever run before. It was an almost otherworldly feeling; as if his own body could not believe what he was doing and was desperately trying to deny it. His feet pushed him numbly forward, as if floating through a strange dream. He was only a few paces away now. He was going to make it. He was free.

In a flash of stunning agony a huge bullet slammed into his back, ripping through his shoulder and almost knocking him down. Gritting his teeth in an unbelievable feat of will he kept his feet and forced himself, as if in slow motion, closer to the edge. He had vowed to make it, and he would. He was almost there.

Gasping in another huge breath from the thin air, his heart clenched as he felt his foot finally land on the edge. As he pushed himself off, the reality of his action came crashing down upon him and panic rose in his throat, his eyes opening wide in sheer terror. His body fought to rebel, but it was too late.

Letting out one last savage shout of triumph, Jack opened his arms and leapt from the ship into the sky beyond. Ten thousand feet of open air stood before him; the only thing that separated him from the ocean miles below.

He did his best to enjoy himself: He had always wanted to try skydiving, only he always thought that he would have a parachute if he ever did. If he could have had his way he would have had at least a drink or two before he leapt, but as a prisoner he was denied even that. He tried to laugh, but he could not hear himself over the monstrous gushes of wind. This was going to be the ride of his life; one that he hoped he would never repeat. Soaring like a bird above the great blue sphere, he tried to not let his eminent death detract from the beauty of the planet he was fighting to save.

Falling at terminal velocity now, it would take less than a minute to cover the entire ten thousand feet, and it was the longest minute of Captain Jack's life. Passing the lowest clouds, he could see the great blue expanse of ocean below him. He had timed this jump especially with the Valiant's flight path; they should have been somewhere near Hawaii. Squinting as best he could against the wind, he could make out an island not far off, but he knew he would still land in the deep ocean. It was getting closer and closer now; if he had the proper equipment, he would have pulled his parachute long ago, but he did not and there was only one thing he could do.

His body was clenched in fear and anticipation, and his heart felt near the point of bursting. He did his best to try and relax as the impact became more and more eminent. The more he relaxed, the less this would hurt; but nothing he did would make it anywhere near bearable. He desperately crossed his arms in front of his face, burying himself in what little protection his elbows offered, he let out one last shout of desperation and success as his body slammed fully into the water at two hundred kilometers per hour.

In jarring flash of unimaginable pain, Captain Jack Harkness fell into the arms of death once more.

-o-o-o-o-

"HAHA!" The Master shouted gleefully once again. "Let's play it again." He held down the rewind button on his laptop keyboard for a moment, then let the clip play for the hundredth time. The Doctor watched solemnly as he saw the small figure of Jack leap off towards his certain and painful demise. He knew full well than the man would recover, and he did admire Jack's bravery, but he would never get used to seeing the man literally die so willingly, no matter how many times he watched it.

"Oh that never gets old!" The Master said joyously as he rewound the clip and played it again, this time in slow motion. It was not very good quality; only a security camera of the deck which was not normally used. It had no audio, but the Master took great joy in supplying his own "_Weee!"_ and "_Ahh!_"s in each time.

"Oh come on, it's funny!" He turned back to the Doctor at last. His captive looked over from his wheelchair but did not say a word. He spoke less and less as time wore on. His wounds had healed, and the Master had taken to chaining him up once more; this time to the wheelchair. It had been over a month and a half since the last escape attempt, maybe even longer. Even the Time Lord could not keep up anymore. Days faded into weeks and months without his notice. He had let Jack plan this one, taking a minimal role himself. All that mattered was the Archangel Network; he had to be very active in hiding his presence from the Master now.

The deeper he got into the network the more he could hear it: The drumming. The Master's signature implanted in the minds of all the earth. A constant yet subdued rhythm of four beats. One two three four. One two three four. It was the base code of the signal; a product of the Master's madness, and the key to his success in becoming Prime Minister Harold Saxon. 'Believe in me.' It said, 'Trust me.' But all the Doctor heard was the opposite. He heard madness and revenge and terror. They were not merely the herald of Saxon's empire, they were the Master's drums of war. And they were truly terrifying.

However, unlike his foe the Doctor only heard the drums when he wanted to. If he concentrated he could hear the signal, weak and first and then growing stronger. But any time he wanted, he could close the contact and the drumming stopped. If only he could help the Master do the same.

He looked on in sorrow for both his captor and his fellow captive as the Master played the clip yet again. "It's funny!" he cheered, more like an order than a suggestion. Beside him Lucy laughed cautiously in reply, but the rest of the room held their tongues.

In some aspects, he was right; if not funny, it was at least a strange and unusual thing to watch a man leap from an airship to his death and know that he would live to tell the tale. It was funny that a man would be so utterly mad as to willingly throw himself off such a height; and it was funny to think that Jack would probably be boasting about it later, and that he himself would think the whole thing a right laugh. But at the same time the haunting, silent image of Jack's self-sacrifice somehow forbid the joy that the Master expressed. The impossible irony that was Jack Harkness was a strange yet terrible thing, allowing him to laugh in the face of death, but also be submitted to inhuman amounts of pain.

At last the Master rose from his chair and approached the Doctor once more, a wide smile on his face. "Bravo." He said, clapping his hands without enthusiasm. "You've managed to hurt dear Jack even more than I have." He spat the name, grinning demonically. The Doctor looked away. He had not wanted Jack to get hurt; he had advised against it. But he had allowed it. And he knew than Jack had done it to fulfill his plans and buy him time. It was his fault, in the end.

"See what your friends get for following you?" The Master was now sitting beside the Doctor in one of his spinney chairs, leaning over the armrest and resting his elbow on that of the wheelchair right beside the Doctor's bonds. "Death and pain and misery." He continued. "My kind of show." He commented with another sly grin. The Doctor's eye came up to glare into his own, and his smile only grew wider.

"Still I must give you points for creativity; even I didn't see that one coming." The Master joked, standing up again and looking down at his captive. "But it won't get him far. I don't care how long he can survive or how many times he can die; there isn't anywhere on the planet that he could hide from me. This world is mine."

The Doctor tried not to smile as he was reminded once more that Martha Jones was still hidden in 'The Master's' world. He knew full well that Jack would not be able to escape the Master for long, but whatever he did it would pull the Master's resources away from hunting Martha and away from his efforts to ready for war. More importantly, after such a dramatic attempt, the Master was sure to think that he had seen the extent of Doctor's plans.

He was honestly sorry for Jack's suffering, but the man's goal was of the highest honor. He hoped that Jack could enjoy whatever freedom he might gain, however short it might be. The Master had already sent out teams of his guards to scour the sea and nearby islands and had sent a message to the Toclafane below. The Doctor knew he would see Jack again soon, and he hoped that the man would agree that it had all been worth it. But for now there was nothing he could do but wait and pray for everyone on the planet below.


	19. Chapter 19

Alright, so I've changed a few things since I spoke you you last about how this shall proceed: Namely, the story will now be 26, not 25 chapters long. I didn't add that much, I actually just split one very long chapter into two: This chapter and the next. So I would say sorry for how this one ends, but we all know that Angst!Fic writers feed off of heartbreak and tears, or, in my case, shudders and cringes. I may eventually push the story even to 27 chapters if I ever get around to writing an epilogue. In any case... enjoy! And thanks again for reading and reviewing! I love you all!

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><p>Captain Jack Harkness fell to his knees. His shoulders slumped and heaved with labored breaths and his wrists were already red from struggling against their bonds behind his back. Every inch of his body was dripping cold water all around him; his whole body soaked to the bone. His exhausted frame barely supported him, his eyes fading in a tired state between open and closed. Misery was written in every slow, trembling breath and he did not lift his gaze beyond the floor. He barely registered the conversation around him.<p>

"He was carrying only this, Sir." One of the guards dutifully reported, carefully holding something out for his Master to see.

"What's this?" A quaint smile rose upon the Master's lips as he took the tool and looked it over. "A sonic screwdriver." The Master laughed and looked over the pitiful tool in his hand; it was practically useless compared to his own. Rather like its owner.

With an amused and accusing look in his eye and a devilish grin upon his face he turned to look at the Doctor, who was still chained to a wheelchair in the corner. "Really, Doctor, I knew you were in on the escape but this?" He asked his captive with a teasing grin. "You're really just making this too easy now."

Turning his own tool against him, the Master pointed the Doctor's screwdriver as his bonds and activated it. The Doctor shifted uncomfortably as his bonds tightened around his wrists, and previously open cuffs clamped around his ankles, arms, shoulders, legs, and ankles; locking him tightly in place. The Doctor had recovered from his injuries, and the Master had improved the security on his wheelchair, not so much because he feared that the Doctor would escape, but more because he enjoyed illustrating to everyone how useless and helpless the Doctor really was.

Finding nothing better to do with the Doctor's pathetic tool the Master tossed it aside over his shoulder as if it were nothing at all. "Dispose of that." He ordered his guard Captain. "Burn it, break it, I don't care. Just don't let him have it again."

The Doctor glared up at the Master, anger rising in his hearts. He had already seen the painful imprisonment and desecration of his TARDIS and the torture of himself and his friends, not to mention the horrors on the world below. He knew that his sonic screwdriver was a sacrifice he would have to make when he gave it to Jack, but somehow it still upset him to watch the Master carry on in such arrogance and pride.

The Master only mocked the Doctor's look of indignation, knowing that there was absolutely nothing that the other Time Lord could do. "As for you…" He turned to the Doctor when an idea came to him. If the Doctor was going to let his friends suffer for him, so be it. But he would watch them suffer every moment of the way. He smiled. "Be a good boy and sit and watch the Master at his work." He chided , patting the Doctor's head, before turning back to Jack's stricken form once more.

"So _Captain_" The Master's cruel, sarcastic voice called loudly, "You tell me – was it worth it?"

For a moment Jack could only sit and stare at the floor before him, his weary mind working to register the situation and respond. He was so tired. He closed his eyes and thought over the past days. After his insane leap from the Valiant he had spent several days drifting alone at sea. He had awoken from death to find his lungs full of water and had suffocated and drowned God-knows how many times. Once he finally fought his way into breathable air he had perished at least once of pure exhaustion from trying to keep himself afloat with no food or water to sustain him. At last he washed up on the shore of a remote island somewhere near Hawaii and found the Master's forces even there. He spent the next week fighting through the dense rainforest in a desperate struggle to survive. With nothing but the ripped clothes on his back and the Doctor's sonic screwdriver to help him, he had not lasted very long.

Between finding food, shelter, and water on the island and trying to escape the Toclafane and the Master's guards Jack had done his very best, but in the end he know it was a battle he could not win. He remembered his last day of relative freedom: He had spent it running for his life once more. In the end he was cornered; running straight to the side of a cliff with the Toclafane right behind. He had leapt off and perished once last time on the jagged rocks and slamming waves below. When he awoke he had washed back on shore and found the barrels of no less than five machine guns pointing towards his downed form. He had no strength left to fight; he had given in, just as he always knew he must. He had done his job and held out for as long as he could. They would take him back to the Master – and the Doctor – once more.

And now here he was, on the ground at his captor's feet, still dripping from his final attempt to flee. He considered the question again: Was it worth it? Heaving another labored breath, a tired smile rose on Jack's face. His lifted his eyes to the Master at last and spotted the Doctor behind him. He looked first to his friend. The Doctor held a silent apology in his eyes, but Jack's smile told him it was not needed. He then at last looked to the Master's amused gaze. The stunning defiance in Jack's eyes made his captor's smile waiver.

"Yeah." Jack coughed out, and was met at once by a strong slap in the face. The Doctor flinched as his friend's whole body seemed slapped to the side by the Master's forceful blow.

"Let's see if you still feel the same when I'm done." The Master threatened darkly. Stepping closer, he drew his knife from his pocket and flipped it open. He slipped the blade under Jack's jaw and used it to raise his head sharply up to face his own. Jack struggled against his new position and coughed again; it had become harder to breathe. The Master smiled, running the edge of his blade over Jack's jugular vein with a wicked grin. The defiance never left his captive's eyes.

"You know I really thought you might have learned your lesson by now…" The Master began, increasing the pressure of his blade with every word. He smiled as he drew blood, and his smile grew with demonic pleasure as he slowly, intentionally, carved a sharp crimson line under his captive's jaw, severing both major veins there and cutting into his windpipe as he finished with a flick of his wrist. Jack's mouth fell open in a silent gasp of pain as his lifeblood was quickly drained out of his body, flowing down his chained and helpless form. He could not even cry out in pain. The Master released him and stepped back to watch his newest work.

Jack's body trembled and his breathing stopped, a look of pure agony etched upon his face. His vision faded and eyes slowly closed, and he at last slumped and crashed dead to the floor in a deepening pool of his own blood.

The Master clapped his hands and laughed aloud, as if watching a show at a carnival. The rest of the room seemed to collectively hold their breath in mourning. The Doctor clenched his teeth in empathetic pain.

After several painfully tense and silent moments Jack burst back to life, gasping and jerking against his chains. He tried to lift a hand to his sliced throat, but could not. He coughed and tried to roll out of the blood that now soaked him, but it was in vain. With a signal from their Master the guards lifted him back up to his knees. Gasping in even more labored breaths than before, Jack was soon face to face with his captor once more as the Master squatted down to his level, placing his knife on the side of Jack's face again with a wicked smile.

"How was that?" He asked. "Was _that_ worth it?" Jack made no response, closing his eyes and concentrating on merely breathing in and out. "Perhaps I should try again." The Master added calmly. Jack sucked in a breath of fear, his eyes springing open to betray deep, frightened pain. The Master laughed and stood to his feet. He would not do the same thing twice; where was the fun in that? He would have to invent some new way to punish this rebellious soul.

"Undo one of his cuffs." He ordered his guards quickly. "Chain him up over there." He gestured to the wall behind him. Soon Jack was on his feet, his back to the wall. His right hand was pulled above his head and locked onto one of the railing bars on the upper level of the bridge. His left hand was soon similarly chained.

As the guards bound Jack the Master fetched the Doctor and wheeled him before the scene, determined that the Time Lord get a front seat view of his friend's torture.

"Captain Jack Harkness…" The Master's voice trailed off as he turned back to his captive and looked him over, spinning the bloodied knife in his hands. "…The man who cannot die." He said with a twinge of bitter hate.

The Doctor watched them, immobile, with real fear in his eyes. He knew the Master; he knew his past. Before the Time Lords resurrected him he had been obsessed with one thing alone: Immortality. And now it stood before him in the form of his puny human being. He did not know how much the Time War had changed the Master, but he recognized the gleam of jealousy that now rose in his fellow Time Lord's eyes.

"You know…" The Master continued with a humorless laugh "I really should have thought of throwing you over the edge sooner." He approached Jack until they were only inches apart, but his captive stood unfazed. "But it was so much funner to watch you jump off on your own." He smiled widely. "Because that's just the kind of thing that the Doctor's friends will do. See what he's done to you?" Still Jack made no response but looked the Master square in the eye. The Doctor, however, sat pierced by their captor's words.

"You're right…" Jack finally answered, when he realized that this torment was not for him but the Doctor to hear. "He's made me a better man." He retorted loudly.

"He's made you an accursed freak and plagued your life with danger, just like every other friend he's ever had." The Master informed him angrily. "And he brought you to me." He finished with a grin.

Jack's weak smile had not wavered. "It was worth it." He said.

The Master was growing tired of this. With a swiftness that startled everyone in the room and with a sickening smile of revenge on his face, the Time Lord thrust his knife forward, plunging the blade deep into Jack's abdomen and twisting up hard.

Jack let out a miserable shout of anguish as all the air was forced from his lungs with the blow. His face contorted in agony, and he did his best to curl in on the new wound. Blood poured out freely onto the Master's hand as he yanked his blade free with a sadistic laugh.

"Master!" The Doctor cried desperately from behind them "Stop it!" But the Master paid him no heed.

The Master stepped back for a moment like an artist surveying his work. Jack heaved in painful breaths, sagging in his bonds and grunting in pain as he looked down to the growing crimson stain on his side. It was not a fatal wound, but that did not make it hurt any less.

"Did you actually think you could escape me?" The Master asked, his voice smooth and light as he positioned his knife next Jack's right shoulder and slowly, deliberately, forced its sharp tip into his flesh. Jack grit his teeth to keep from crying out, but as the Master twisted the blade harshly into his joint even this was in vain.

"STOP!" The Doctor yelled and was denied once more. He could only watch, helpless to stop him as he continued to kill Jack again. It did not matter if the man could not die, no one should have to endure this pain; least of all on his behalf.

Pulling his knife out swiftly and with as much injury as possible, the Master next thrust his blade into the tight muscle of Jack's left thigh, leaning in close and watching the torture wash over Jack's face with every millimeter his knife sunk in.

Jack's vision was fading in and out now as more and more of his blood flowed to the floor. He was barely breathing, and unconsciousness fought to take over his mind.

The Master withdrew his knife from Jack's leg and brought the bloodied blade up to gently stroke the side of his dying captive's face.

"I hope you enjoyed your little game _Captain_." The Master's voice grew darker and more fervent as he leaned in closer and came to whisper in Jack's ear. "I did." He said softly, "You know why?" Jack could barely move his head in response. The Master smiled as he pulled away and looked Jack over one last time. "Because I win." He said proudly. In a blur of motion he plunged his knife forward once more, this time stabbing it straight into Jack Harkness' heart.

"No!" The Doctor cried behind him, joining in Jack's last tortured gasp of agony before he faded into death once more. The Master laughed as he drew back his blade and watched Jack slump limply in his bonds against the now blood-stained wall and floor

"Stop it!" The Doctor yelled again in desperation.

"Make me." Came the all-too-happy reply.

The Doctor glared up at the Master's smiling face, trying to stop himself from simply seething in rage. He tried to remind himself that there were no answers in anger or revenge; that only true forgiveness would make things right. But every day the Master tested his patience more, trying ever harder, it seemed, to commit some crime that the Doctor would find unforgivable; to push him over the edge.

"Leave him alone." The Doctor ground out in a threatening tone.

"I'm not sure you understand, Doctor:" The Master laughed "I'm only doing this because of you."

The Doctor's mouth fell open at his words; fear, dread, and shame filling his eyes. The Master merely smiled once more.

Just before either Time Lord could say another word Harkness lurched back into life, gasping in air as his mind quickly fought to remember what was going on. He saw the Master and did his best to stand tall in his bonds, still coughing and wincing in pain. His eyes held one message: Do your worst. But it made the Master laugh.

"You're still at it, aren't you?" He asked in a mocking tone that was confirmed by the determined look in Jack's eyes. "I've got another idea…" The Master turned to him, tossing his knife back and forth in his hands. He was getting bored of this game. He had let the Doctor's pathetic escape attempts go on quite long enough. He had tried to emphasize their futility, but no matter how much he beat his power into them, they would not listen. Perhaps they just needed some perspective; something to scare them. The Master stopped and turned sharply around. His eyes darted around the room to search every face. He smiled and turned to the Captain of the guard once more.

"Those two." He pointed. Every heart in the room seemed to stop save for his own. "Bring them to me." He ordered with a light smile.

Hesitantly, the Captain obeyed. Nodding to his men, they surrounded the Master's two newest targets and regretfully brought them forward.

Soon Letitia Jones and the guard Charlie knelt at the Master's feet, their hands placed submissively behind their heads.

"No…" A gasp of disbelief escaped the Doctor's lips. The Master laughed to hear it and turned back to him.

"Did you honestly think I didn't know?" He asked, truly amused. The Doctor's mouth hung open in worried shock, and he could not reply. He had been dreading this day. Somehow, he had known it was coming. But he had let them help anyway. He was a fool – a selfish old man. And now they would pay for it.

"I have video footage," The Master announced, "That these two impudent fools helped Harkness escape." He walked around his four captives, enjoying the looks of horror and pure terror that shone from each of their eyes.

After a letting his words linger for a potent moment, the Master approached the two accused, shaking his head in mock pity. "I really thought I had made myself clear." He said calmly. "I am the _Master_ here." He slapped Charlie roughly across the face, but the guard made little response. "I know everything that goes on aboard my ship and in my world." He claimed loudly, turning from Charlie to Tish. He grabbed her chin and forced her to look up at him. She did not meet his eyes. "And my laws must be obeyed." He said sharply, tossing her aside and turning back to the rest of the room.

"However…" A smile came to his face. "Since I am a merciful lord…" The Master smiled, perhaps at the irony of his own words. Pure dread deepened in the Doctor's eyes. "Only one of them must die." He pronounced. The entire room seemed to gasp and hold its breath. Tish bit her lip in panicked fear as she looked to Charlie beside her, and then to the Doctor, and then to her mother, who stood on the far corner of the room, surrounded by guards. Charlie kept his eyes on the floor, breathing hard as he prepared to deal with what he knew must be.

"So Doctor..." The Master turned back to the other Time Lord with a devilish glint in his eye. "What'll it be?"


	20. Chapter 20

"_What?_" The Doctor gasped indignantly. This could not be happening. He would not accept this.

"Choose." The Master ordered firmly. The Doctor continued to stare, mouth agape. The Master smiled and tried to make himself more clear.

"Who will die by your hand, Doctor?" He grinned, coming behind his new pair of prisoners. "The sister of your precious Martha Jones?" He grabbed Leticia's head and tilted is up until he was smiling down at her face, reveling in the pure, honest fear that rose in her eyes. "Or this worthless sod?" He turned to Charlie, taking a handful of the guard's hair and pulling him into a similar position, knocking off his hat. "The innocent bystander who you pulled along for the ride." He looked back to the Doctor.

"Doctor…" Jack desperately tried to interrupt. In an instant, the Master had drawn his laser screwdriver and fired it at Jack once more, shutting him up momentarily at least.

"Chose." He ordered again. Still the Doctor sat speechless. He could not. He could not condemn either of them. All they had wanted was to help. He had given them hope, and now it was destroyed. It was he that deserved to die, not they. They had given everything, and now he could not save them. Like so many before.

"Kill me." The Doctor said desperately. The Master laughed all the louder.

"Oh Doctor, Doctor…You'd like that, wouldn't you?" He smirked. "No. That's not a choice." He finished firmly. "Choose or I kill them both."

The Doctor could hear Letitia's mother gasp from across the room, he knew that she must be practically dying of anger and fright. His mind raced, trying to find any way to avoid this terrible decision. He could think of nothing. "I…" The Doctor's voice waivered. There was no reasoning with the Master, nothing he could offer that the Master could not take by force, and he had no means of escape for any of them.

"Choose me." Charlie's voice broke the silence. The Doctor's eyes locked onto his. They held fear, but fighting through the panic was strength and life. Above him the Master smiled and tightened his grip, but Charlie was unfazed. "Choose me, Doctor." He said strongly once more, the new life in his eyes demanding his own death. Beside him, Letitia gasped in a sick mixture of disbelief, horror, and relief.

"No… No… I…" The Doctor stuttered helplessly. Still, even his Time Lord brain could conjure up no plan of escape. The Master's smile grew.

"Doctor?" He asked loudly, tightening his grip on Letitia, indicating that without a swift decision he would kill her first.

"Doctor." Charlie addressed him calmly. "I'm ready." He said. "I told you I knew what I was getting into." He even did his best to smile. "Don't let Tish die." He ordered firmly. The Doctor nodded weakly and the Master grabbed Charlie tighter, indicating that his little speech had come to an end, but Charlie resisted. "I believe in you, Doctor! Don't let him win. Killing me won't do any harm." His thick, Scottish accent made him sound all the stronger in the face of death.

"Which is it!" The Master yelled, drowning Charlie out. "Who will die?" He called all too happily. It was time for a choice, weather the Doctor wanted it or not.

The moment of silence was broken by Charlie's last request. "Please…" he whispered. The Doctor nodded in sorrow and turned his eyes to the Master once more.

Still chained to the wall, Jack gasped back into life just in time to hear the Doctor's shaky condemnation.

"…Ch-Charles." He could barely believe his own voice as the trembling whisper pulled itself from his lips. His eyes closed in absolute defeat. He wanted to die. He wanted to curse himself for all eternity. How could he let this happen? It was all his fault. Charlie should not have even been involved. And now he would pay with his life. The Master's words rang in his head, '_See what your friends get for following you? Death and pain and misery._'

A moment later and the Doctor's eyes sprang back open with the sickening, haunting sound of blade meeting flesh. The Master had pulled Charlie back and plunged his knife into his gut. He would not let the man leave this life too quickly. The Doctor did not want to witness such cruelty, but he felt that for Charlie's honor, the least he could do was watch.

"I'm sorry…" The Doctor murmured helplessly, tears falling freely now. "I'm so sorry!" He sobbed openly.

Even as he sat dying, Charlie would not be stopped. His voice was weak, and his Scottish accent stronger than ever. "Th-" his voice was cut off by another sharp gasp of pain.

The Master would not let him continue. Twisting his knife and thrusting it up quickly, the Master ruptured major veins, arteries, and organs, ripping painfully through muscle and flesh. Blood flowed freely out onto his hand as Charlie coughed and gasped in pain, but did not cry out.

"Th-Thank…you." He did his best to smile defiantly as he slowly succumb to darkness. In his eyes, he had won. He had died fighting for all that was good and right in the world. He died for hope. And he was glad now to be leaving this dark and broken world. He had nothing left to lose.

The Master did not remove his blade until Charlie was dead. And when he was he yanked the knife out quickly and let the man fall to the floor. He stood solemnly to his feet and looked down at the man he had killed as a sculptor might look at his latest piece of art. For a moment the whole room, including the Master, seemed to stand in shock at what had been done.

The Master smiled. He had helped Jack escape, so he would suffer the same. "Throw his corpse overboard." He told the other guards, then stepped dismissively over Charlie's bloody, dead form.

Tears streaked the Doctor's face and filled his eyes. His mouth hung open in shock and his eyes were glued to Charlie's lifeless body. He could not believe what he had just done. He could not say a word.

The Master grabbed the Doctor's chin and forced his face up towards his own, demanding eye contact with his captive as he stained the Doctor's face with Charlie's warm, sticky blood.

"Doctor." He called seriously. The Doctor's eyes at last came to meet his, laying bare his broken, bleeding, emptied soul. The Master's gaze was strong and proud, challenging the Doctor to try and fight him now; challenging him to try and forgive him. The Doctor felt as if he could do neither, only sit in shock and wish to die. "Was it worth it?" The Master asked again.

The Doctor closed his eyes and remained silent, but his soul desperately cried: '_No._'

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><p>AN: ... I really am sorry for this... kind of. I was really glad of the reaction that my last chapter got - It's good to know that you all like (er...liked?) Charlie, as I wasn't sure. So thank you for pleading for his life. But, well, this was already written. The Master does like to have his way and... I did warn you that Angst!Fic authors feed off of tears. I am sorry this chapter is a bit short (well a lot shorter than the last one) though.

P.S. We've reached the 20's mark. Only 6 chapters left. You may begin to recognize some more stuff soon, as we're nearing the end of the Master's reign of Terror. I hope you've enjoyed the ride so far, but know that more - possibly the worst , depends on how you look at it - is yet to come!


	21. Chapter 21

A/N: Only a small note today: I've started work on an epilogue for this story, so it's now a 27 chapter long story... for now.

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><p>The Doctor did not bother opening his eyes. He had seen enough of this world. He was tired of it. Something in the back of his mind longed for just one day in which the world did not need him, in which he could leave it and escape. But day after day he woke up to the same broken world. He wondered for the millionth time how long this had gone on for, and how much longer it would take.<p>

He had no idea how long it had been since Charlie's death, but it felt like years. The Master had begun locking Letitia in the holding cells overnight, so she could no longer visit him. A scared solemnity had overtaken the guards, servants, and crew after the murder of one their own, and the Doctor's own hearts wanted to simply give out. Nothing he could do made anything better. It only made things worse.

They had tried to keep fighting; they knew that they must be running out of time. The Doctor continued to invade the Archangel network, and Jack continued to invent new ways of wriggling out of his bonds. He had gotten out twice since his escape from the Valiant, but was less successful each time. By this time most of the guards, even those still sympathetic to their cause, thought Jack honestly out of his mind. The Master enjoyed his games, however, and found new ways of punishing the band of rebels each time. The last, although the least physically scarring, may have been the worst.

For their impudence, the Master had decided to punish the world below. He gathered them on deck to witness his show of power and took great joy in making them watch their world crumble and bow before him. He had chosen one of the most populated areas on the earth, and he had utterly destroyed it.

The islands of Japan were nothing but haunted, blood-soaked ashes; worse than the aftermath of World War II. And they had watched it burn, helpless to stop him. Tish had taken it the worst, and the Doctor feared that she or one of her family would do something rash. He did not want them hurt, or to hurt themselves. He had made a plan for another distraction with the help of Jones family some time ago, but had insisted that they not act against the Master again unless they must. He did not want any more of the earth to follow the fate of Japan.

As he saw the earth below, the Doctor saw how much damage the Master had done, and how close he was to beginning his galactic war. He knew they had to act and act soon. But as he lay for one peaceful moment alone in his tent, he did his best to keep his mind off of all of this and tried to relax as best he could.

He was so tired. Even though his body looked to be whole once more, he could still feel the painful wounds the Master had given him, and his body had become slower than ever to heal. The Master did not even bother chaining him up anymore; he was practically useless. He sat, day after day, sinking ever lower into despair. The Doctor told himself it was all to buy time and heighten the Master's overconfidence. But he had begun to wonder if he really was useless after all.

As he lay for a blessed, peaceful moment in the solitude of his small tent, he tried once more to focus on anything other than his miserable life. He delved each night into memories of long ago, desperately trying to remind himself of that there was still some good left in this world, and there was some time when he had experienced it. His eyes still closed, the Doctor floated somewhere between sleeping and waking, reliving his past in his mind.

He thought of Martha, and of his TARDIS, and of their adventures. He thought of meeting Donna, and wondered if she was still alive somewhere on the earth below. He thought of Rose. And for once, he was almost glad that she was not there. Almost. He would not wish this terror of a world upon anyone, least of all her. She was safe in Pete's world, safe from all of the danger he brought with him wherever he went. But something in him still screamed for her to be with him, to hold his hand and smile and tell him she trusted him, and that it was going to be alright in the end.

With this thought a faint smile dared to emerge on the Doctor's lips. It had been so long since he had smiled. It had been so long since he had laughed. He lost himself to his memories and dreams once more, but his joyous relief did not last long.

"_Citizens rejoice! Your Lord and Master stands on high, playing track three."_

Sudden music blasted into his once peaceful shelter, piercing into the Doctor's sleepy mind and slapping him awake. Even the bright light of morning seemed to join in the assault on his senses as he dragged his eyes open. He sighed heavily as he contemplated another day aboard the Valiant. He probably should have been used to it now, but even though all of the pain and ache, each morning seemed to surprise him a little – although a little less every time. A dying corner of his mind still hoped and prayed that this was all a terrible nightmare, and they one day he would awaken from it to find he was still safe on the TARDIS. With Rose.

He could hear the Master going through his normal morning ritual, utilizing all of his ample opportunities to generally degrade, humiliate, and patronize everyone else on board, including Lucy his wife, who the Doctor knew bore many scars of her own by his hand.

The loud ringing of the Master's summoning hand bell somehow broke through the music, and the Doctor rolled his eyes and sighed once more, forcing himself towards the door.

"Oh I could throw you in the lake or feed you poison birthday cake, I won't deny, I'm gonna miss you when you're gone." The Master sang along to his song, hopping down from his place on the command deck and meeting the Doctor as he crawled out of his tent. "Oh I could bury you alive," The Master grabbed the Doctor buy his tie and pulled him up into a standing position "but you might crawl out with a knife and kill me while I'm sleeping, that's why…" The Master sang in his face, shoving him back down to where the Doctor crashed roughly into his wheelchair.

"I can't decide whether you should live or die!" The Master sang gleefully as he shoved the Doctor forward on his chair once more. "Oh you'd probably go to heaven, please don't hang your head and cry." He mocked as he spun them around with a laugh, but the Doctor paid him little heed. He barely reacted to this sort of thing anymore. He was tired of it.

"_No wonder why my heart feels dead inside, it's cold and hard and petrified. Lock the doors and close the blinds, we're going for a ride…"_ The song went on as the Master finally pushed the wheelchair towards a window and stopped.

"It's ready to rise, Doctor!" He knelt beside his captive with a joyous smile. "The new Time Lord Empire!" He cheered. "It's good, isn't it?" he turned to the Doctor, who stared blankly out the window, watching masses of Toclafane pass by. "Isn't it good?" The Master teased again. The Doctor did not respond. He had defeated the last Time Lord Empire single handed. As he watched the Master's army, he felt practically useless now. "Anything?" His captor continued to prod. "No? Anything?" He waved his hand mockingly before the Doctor's eyes, but his captive did not grace him with a response.

He looked out the window, following the Doctor's despondent gaze, and smiled. "Oh, but they broke your hearts, didn't they, those Toclafane?" He asked in a much too amused tone. "Ever since you found out what they really are." The Doctor swallowed hard, but did not move his gaze. The Master sat for a moment watching him. He was the living image of defeat. But the Master knew one thing that might bring him even lower.

"They say Martha Jones has come back home." He broke the silence. At once, the Doctor turned to him. The Master smiled at the fear that shone in his captive's eyes. "Now why would she do that?" He asked proudly. He had taken everything else from his old friend and foe, Martha was the only thing that the Doctor had left to lose.

"Leave her alone." The Doctor said strongly. They were the first three words he had uttered in the past two days.

"But you said something to her, didn't you?" The Master pointed out. "On the day I took control."

The Doctor diverted his gaze, and the Master knew that he was hiding something. The Doctor hoped that he had not noticed, but it was too late now.

"What did you tell her?" He asked in a dark and serious tone.

The Doctor looked back into the Master's eyes, wondering how much he knew. All of his plans passed before his mind; the Archangel network, the human race, Martha's mission, they all had to work. But there was something even more important that would bring the Master down.

"I have one thing to say to you." The Doctor said softly, his eyes filled with a strange sort of hope that the Master could not grasp. He seemed to be looking straight into his enemy's soul. The Master raised an eyebrow in question. "You know what it is." The Doctor told him. In fact, the Master did not know, or he did not want to know. But something in his strange new defiance brought to the Master something he had not felt in a long time: Fear.

"Ooh no you don't!" He said loudly, trying again to belittle whatever it was that the Doctor did in an attempt to mask the hint of fear that it rose in his hearts. He stood and shoved the Doctor's wheelchair away into the corner, discarding him as useless once more.

"Come on, people, what are we doing?" He turned back to the Valiant and clapped his hands impatiently. "Launch day in twenty-four hours!"

The Doctor knew that they would have to enact their final plan today, if ever. They were running out of time. Although the Doctor did not want Martha captured, he now realized that he had delayed this day's coming long enough. Martha knew it was almost time. He turned silently to Martha's mother and gave a wordless message to Francine, who passed by with her tray. He held three fingers out discreetly, the sign that they would act at three o'clock that day. Francine would carry the message to the others. It was time to act at last.


	22. Chapter 22

Life on the Valiant went on as normal. The Doctor sat idly by in the corner watching the comings and goings of servants, guards, staff, and crew. He had their schedules practically memorized. He looked up to the clock on the wall. 14:58. Two minutes. He looked over to where Francine and Tish stood. They had seen the clock as well.

14:59. Like clockwork, the Master entered the room, with Lucy close behind. Every day her eyes grew more despondent and held less hope. The Doctor felt truly sorry for her, but he had never been able to say a word.

"Time for my massage." The Master proclaimed, "Who shall I have today?" he asked happily, looking around at every girl in the room, knowing that each was his to command. "Tanya." His gaze finally stopped on one of the women. "Come on, sweetheart." He summoned her over, and she reluctantly complied.

"Lucy have you met Tanya?" The Master questioned with a bit of a laugh "She's gorgeous!" He said uncaringly to his wife as he took of his suit jacket and threw it down on the table. "Tanya," He next addressed as he sat down and she obediently came up behind him. "When we go to the stars, I'm gonna take you to the Catriga Nova." He smiled. "Whirlpools of gold!" He relaxed as she began to rub his shoulders. She did her job well, although the Doctor could see that every fiber of her being would rather strangle him.

"You two should get to know each other. That might be fun!" The Master said haughtily, knowing exactly how much he was breaking Lucy's heart with each word. She was already more broken than could be repaired. He did not care. He never really cared. She knew that now, but somehow she still longed to find that it was not true.

The Doctor watched as the Master fell perfectly into his trap, closing his eyes and relaxing in his chair. 15:00. It was time.

A scream was heard from the hallway, and an alarm went off.

_Condition Red! I repeat: Condition Red!_ The speakers blared.

Everyone moved at once. The guards covered the entrance, the Master bounded up the stairs. Francine took her chance. She grabbed the Master's jacket and tossed it to her daughter, who ran to shove it into the Doctor's arms. Forcing himself to his feet, he pulled from the jacket's pocket the Master's ever-threatening weapon: His laser screwdriver.

The commotion ended just as quickly as it had begun. But when it was over, their long standing positions had switched sides. The Doctor stood strongly, raising the Master's weapon in both hands and pointing it straight towards its owner's hearts. The Master turned around and for a moment a wave of fear flashed before his eyes. Hope surged into the Doctor's hearts. But to his dismay the Master's fear was quickly banished by a sarcastic smile.

"Oh, I see." He raised his hands in what seemed to be a mock surrender.

"I told you." The Doctor said loudly, trying to not let the Master's reaction faze him. None of the guards moved to stop him. "I have one thing to say." He would not kill the Master. He would not even hurt him. But the Master had to know that he had not won.

Nevertheless, the Master looked down and let out a long, loud laugh. The Doctor tried to fire a warning shot past him. His brow knotted and he looked to the screwdriver in his hands. It did not respond to him. He did not know what was wrong. The Master continued to simply laugh.

Gunshots were heard down the hallway, and both of them knew that Jack was dead once again. The Master came down the stairs, approaching the Doctor, showing no fear of the weapon in his foe's hands.

"Isomorphic controls." He said with a grin. He reached forward from his place two paces up on the stairwell and grasped the screwdriver in the Doctor's outstretched hands. The Doctor sighed, disappointed, and did not resist him. He should have known. He let the weapon slip through his grasp. He had failed. Again.

In a flash, he felt the Master's burning anger once more, as the Time Lord's fist flew into swift contact with his face. The Doctor cried out as he was thrown to the ground by the forceful and unexpected blow. He crashed into a pitiful lump at Tish's feet.

"Which means they only work for me." The Master said above his moans, taking the screwdriver again in his hands. "Like this…" A beam of fire stabbed into the Doctor's already damaged form, seeming to pierce him body and soul. The Master held him there for what might have been a full minute, although to the Doctor it seemed an eternity. The Doctor screamed in burning anguish. The Master smiled to hear him. At last he released him, and the Doctor heaved in pained breaths, lying broken on the floor. But the Master did not stop.

"…And this." He smiled, raising his weapon once more and aiming it at Francine, the newest addition to the Doctor's band of thieves. She screamed and ducked out of the way. If he had meant to hit her, he would have. "Say you're sorry!" He shouted.

"Sorry!" Francine said quickly, "Sorry! Sorry!" She would not fight him. He smiled at the raw fear in her voice.

"Mum!" Tish, who had knelt beside the Doctor, ran and took her mother in her arms. The Master paid her little heed.

"And you, Doctor?" He asked, looking down on the miserable excuse for a Time Lord at the bottom of the stairs. He armed his screwdriver once more.

The Doctor panted, his eyes closed and his brow knotted in lingering pain. "I'm… Sorry…" he managed to cough.

"Good." The Master turned from him to look at the two other insolent slaves. "Didn't you learn anything from the blessed Saint Martha?" He asked condescendingly as he came down the stairs. Lucy stood ready and waiting for him, holding out his jacket and hoping to please his every wish. "Siding with the Doctor," The Master threw a hard kick into the Doctor's downed form, forcing the air from his lungs and causing him to curl into a pitiful ball once more. "Is a very dangerous thing to do." He finished, as Lucy helped him into his jacket once more. "Take them away." He ordered, and the Joneses were escorted from the room to be locked in the holding cells until morning.

"Ok…" The Master turned back to the Doctor at last, grabbing his shoulders and lifting him up. "Gocha." He pulled the man off the floor, and the Doctor begrudgingly let his foe help him into one of the many spinney chairs.

The Master laughed lightly as the Doctor crashed sadly into the chair. "Do you know?" He sat on the table opposite the Doctor and spun his chair around with a kick to the arm rest. The Doctor simply sat, allowing himself to go round. He did not respond to the Master's question. His captor continued. "I remember the days when the Doctor…" He stopped the Doctor's spinning as they came to face each other once more. "Oh that famous Doctor…" he smiled. "…Was waging a Time War: Battling Sea Devils and Axons. He sealed the rift at the Medusa Cascade single handed." He pretended to look impressed. Perhaps he was impressed, but nothing compared to this useless fool that sat before him. "Look at him now. Stealing screwdrivers?"

The Doctor's breath still came in heavy gasps, and still he did not show any response.

"How did he ever come to this?" The Master asked sadly as he looked his oldest friend and foe over once more. The Doctor merely stared deep into his eyes. The Master could see his pain, and his sadness, and the brokenness of his soul. He could see his weakness and his failure and his loss. He could even see the Doctor's love: And how it had failed him. The stupidity of it all; the Time Lords knew better. How had the Oncoming Storm come to this? "Oh yeah, Me!" The Master laughed honestly and loudly.

The Doctor finally took his chance. He already knew what kind of response would come. But he had to try just one more time. And one more time after that, and after that, and after that. "I just need you to listen." He whispered.

"No." The Master's response was fast and dangerous. "It's my turn." He yelled. "Revenge: Best. Served. Hot." The Doctor looked sadly into his eyes, but found no sympathy in them at all. "And this time it's a message for Miss Jones." The Master said darkly and stood immediately to his feet.

"Get him up!" He ordered loudly. The guards quickly came to the Doctor's side and lifted him out of his seat. He stood strongly between them of his own volition. "Cuff him, over there." The Master pointed towards the spot at which Jack had been chained upon his return from the world below. The Doctor was soon locked in a similar position, as the Master went to the other corner and brought out one of the news-camera that had been left on the Valiant on the day he took control. "We're transmitting. Across the world." He informed his crew as he positioned the camera on its tripod in front of the Doctor and they dutifully went about setting it up.

"Ready, Doctor?" He turned to his captive with a sadistic smile. The Doctor only glared at him, struggling to banish all fear from his eyes. It was a losing battle.

"We're ready, Master." One of the crew reported. The Master positioned himself before the Camera, standing in between it and the Doctor's bound form. He nodded, and a small red light came on just above the lens.

He pulled the camera up to face him as it came on. "My people." He addressed them fondly but with the most frightening of grins. "Salutations on this the eve of war - Lovely woman." He said with a small laugh. "But I know there's all sorts of whispers down there. Stories of a child walking the earth. Giving you hope." He spoke to the people of the world below as if they were children under his care; children in need of scolding. He smiled again, taking a step back and revealing his captive to the world.

"But I ask you…" He turned and placed his arm around the Doctor's shoulders where he stood chained against the wall. "How much hope has this man got?"

The Doctor looked steadily into the camera lens. Somehow he knew Martha could see him. He prayed that she was alright. He wanted to tell her not to care about him, but to carry on. "Say hello, Doctor." The Master told him, forcefully ruffling his already disheveled hair. The Doctor remained silent.

"I know he doesn't look that bad…" The Master pulled his arm away and turned to see the Doctor as the camera did. His lip was bloodied from where the Master had struck him, but he appeared to be otherwise physically unscathed. The Master lifted his hand to wipe the blood from his captive's lip and smiled. That would soon change. "But he's an alien." He continued, turning back to the camera "With much more regenerative power than you, stunted little apes." He addressed them. Fear rose in the Doctor's hearts with each word. "But what if it wasn't so?" The Master said, this time turning to address the Doctor himself. His mouth twitched up into a grin as he watched terror well up in his captive's eyes. Still the Doctor said nothing.

"What if I suspend your capacity to regenerate?" The Master asked him, taking his laser screwdriver from his pocket once more.

"You can't." The Doctor could remain silent no longer. The Master laughed.

"Oh but I can." He said, adjusting the settings on his favorite tool. The Doctor only stared, his mouth hanging ajar as the Master continued. "Professor Lazarus, remember him?" He asked, momentarily forgetting the audience behind him to tease his Time Lord captive further. "And his genetic manipulation device?" The Doctor swallowed hard. "Did you think little Tish got that job merely by coincidence?" The Master scoffed. "I've been laying traps for you all this time. You knew it was based on Time Lord technology. You knew it wasn't made for human use." He spat out the word _human_ like it was an offense to say. "And if I can concentrate all that Lazarus technology into one little screwdriver…" He made a final adjustment and raised his device to show the world. "…And synch it to your biological code…"

The Master at once drew his knife from his pocket and flipped it open. With a flick of his wrist, he cut a sharp but shallow line crimson across the Doctor's cheek. The Doctor flinched, but did not cry out. The Master next pressed the back end of his device against the Doctor's face, collecting the first drops of blood as they fell down his cheek. The Doctor continued to glare at him, but did not say another word.

"I can." The Master smiled again, meeting the Doctor's gaze with a satanic gleam in his eyes. "How much do you think you've regenerated since you got here, hmm? Anyone else would have died a year ago." He said.

The Doctor looked to the floor. Had it really been an entire year? Had it really only been one year ago? He did not know which he could believe less.

The Master's voice brought him back to the present. "I can take it all away, Doctor." He took a step back but remained in camera shot. "All of your healing ability, everything keeping you alive. I can undo all you've done: Show you as you should be." He threatened, raising the screwdriver in his hand and aiming at the Doctor's hearts. "I can make you… Human." He smiled. "Would you like that?"

The Doctor's only response was to look the Master in the eye. In his gaze the Doctor saw exactly what he had seen before: Malice and rage and insanity. But the Master saw the last thing he expected. Pity, along with something else that the Master did not understand, or chose not to understand: Forgiveness.

At once the Master pulled the trigger and an inhuman scream filled his ears.

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><p>AN: Yes, yes I KNOW I changed how the Master's screwdriver works. Yes I know he originally used the Doctor's severed hand to make the biological link - but he's been in captivity for a year, and I thought it would be awkward to randomly throw his hand in now. And yes, I know how important that hand is - Go read my TenToo/Rose stuff if you don't believe me. (... Or just go read them anyway?... Please? *sheepish grin*).


	23. Chapter 23

A/N: Soooo this morning I woke up completely convinced that it was Friday. It's not. It's Thursday. I know that now... Classes just started yesterday, and I've been completely thrown off. But anyway, I suppose this is a present for yall! Early chapter, yay! Time to get you off that terrible cliff. For now. Normal chapter time will HOPEFULLY resume this sunday... that is if I can keep the days of the week straight from now on.

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><p>White hot burning agony laced through his every nerve, ripping through him like a thousand swords ablaze. He could feel every cell and fiber of his being exploding and being torn apart, his body reverting back through the entire pain-filled year. He was dying. Slowly, yet all at once dying before their eyes.<p>

The Doctor screamed in excruciating pain, thrashing wildly, uncontrollably in his bonds. His skin ripped apart as if torn by invisible hands, old wounds breaking forth and spilling their vital contents to soak his suit and trousers an ever deepening shade of crimson.

The Master's sadistic, psychotic smile returned. He continued to hold the trigger down and held his device steadily aimed at the Doctor's hearts, ripping him apart with the press of a button. It was all too easy. He only wished he could see Martha's face. Oh well, it was more fun to imagine, and if he could not see Martha, at least he could hear the Doctor scream.

The desperate, bestial cries ripped from his captive's throat continued, along with his miserable sobs; a symphony of torment that played, to the Master's ears, in perfect harmony with the sound of his screwdriver and the beat of the drums. The never ending drums. They grew louder and louder, as did the Doctor's throes of pain.

The Doctor could feel it, all of it, all at once, tearing through him, body, mind and soul: All of the pain and anguish of his imprisonment washed over him just as the blood that flowed freely from his wounds. He reeled in agony, tears streaming down his face, as his back was ripped once more into nearly unrecognizable shreds by a swift and invisible lash. He sucked in breath as he felt the painful stripes that girded his rib cage slice open again, splitting his once-healed flesh. Every inch of his being screamed to simply let him die. But he could not. He could not regenerate.

Every second was another step descending into hell. His body did not even have time to go numb. He could feel the Toclafane all over again; debilitating, overpowering torture flooding his senses. Howling and shrieking, the Doctor could barely breathe as he writhed and wailed in intolerable, insufferable anguish.

The entire world seemed to hold its breath in shock. Those on the Valiant could say nothing, helpless to stop the unbelievable horror before their eyes, and those that watched from the earth below stood speechless at the horrendous scene broadcast to the world. The Master alone stood smiling. A demonic, evil fire burned in his eyes, the pure power of his actions seeming to flow through his veins and rise in his hearts, a rush of psychotic joy striking him with each of the Doctor's wretched cries.

As the entirety of his year of torture came upon him, the Doctor faded slowly into the darkness of death, beaten into the deepest stages of shock and despair. One last pitiful scream was wrenched from his broken throat as he sagged helplessly in his chains, trembling in inexpressible misery. His hearts beat feebly in his chest, longing for the moment in which they could give out and serve him no longer. He had run out of tears to shed, and had screamed until he make no more noise. The Master watched him carefully, taking in each aspect and every moment of his anguish. He was holding out even longer than his captor thought he might. As his cries stopped, the Master held him for an eternity of a moment more, watching him tremble and moan helplessly at the laser's white fire continued to hold him captive. Just as the Doctor arrived at the brink of death, the Master released him at last.

The Doctor's body fell limp in his bonds like a puppet whose strings had been severed. It was as if the powerful shock that slowly killed him had been the only thing keeping him alive. His head fell against his chest, and his eyes closed. For a moment, the entire world stood silent. Worry crossed over even the Master's face.

Daring to break the solemn stillness, the Master lifted his hand to his victim's chin, raising his face up once more. He could feel his pulse; weak, erratic, and fading, under his jaw.

"Doctor?" His voice pierced the dreadful silence. The Doctor let out the softest of moans as his tired face was lifted up for the camera to see. His left eye was practically swollen shut again, and old-new cuts and bruises covered the entirety of his being. He was less than a step away from a death from which there would be no coming back, no regenerating. "Doctor?" The Master questioned once more as he realized his captive was, in fact, alive, and could hear him. "Anything to say?" His dreadful, wicked smile returned. He would not kill the Doctor. He knew that he would not die.

His mind fading into the void, the Doctor's entire being began to shut down. One fleeting delirious thought filled his mind as the last shreds of his consciousness rebelled fiercely against death. He would not die. He could not, not until he told her. Even now the thought came to his mind as his tortured soul reached desperately out to whatever hope it had left. That was what kept him fighting. The last time he was in this much pain, it was the only think he could say. And so it was again.

As he fell fully into the blessed darkness of unconscious sleep, a single word escaped his lips; a word that was, perhaps, the word that Martha Jones least wanted to hear. But he could not help it as his shocked, dying mind whispered and indeed begged, "_Rose_…" His head fell limply against his chest with what might have been his final breath. His mind screamed to be released to her; that he might wake from this terrible world and find it only a horrifying dream

The Master smiled largely once more. He did not know the extent of the havoc that that one word might wreak upon Martha's already broken heart, but he knew what it meant to the Doctor. He had read the Doctor's files and knew who she was. He leaned in close and whispered in his captive's ear, still loud enough for the camera to hear, "She can't save you now. No one can."

One last tear escaped the Doctor's weary eyes to join the flood that already soaked his face. The Master released him and he fell practically dead in his bonds once more, staining the walls with his blood.

The Master turned back to the camera, still recording and transmitting. He looked straight into the lens, straight into Martha's eyes. "Received and understood, Miss Jones." He said harshly, and then shut the camera off.

Tense silence hung in the air. None of the crew dared move or breathe, not even Lucy. The Master turned to them, looking once around the room.

"Don't just stand there, MOVE!" He shouted, and the whole room seemed to jump. "Ready the fleet. Tomorrow morning we launch!" He said, and at once each man and woman went back to their assigned post, trying their best to wipe the scarring image of what they had just witnessed from their mind's eye.

"As for you…" The Master turned back to see where the Doctor slumped awkwardly against the wall. He would not die, no matter how much he wanted to. The Master would not allow it. He had left him with just enough residual energy to keep him alive, but he would have none left to heal himself, not even as much as a human normally had. It was his just reward for taking their side. If he wanted to be counted amongst the weak, so be it; it was his own doing.

"Sir?" The captain of the guard came up beside his Master, awaiting orders.

"Let no one touch him." The Master ordered, his eyes still fixed on the miserable lump of a man before him. "Keep him here." He said, and turned quickly away before the captain could even respond.

It would be several hours before the Doctor woke again, although he wished it was several days, or perhaps forever. Yet in that short time all hope was lost aboard the Valiant. The Doctor was defeated. Who would save them now?


	24. Chapter 24

Strange dreams haunted the Doctor as he sagged half dead in his bonds: Haunting images of his past. He had lived so very long. He had seen empires rise and fall, watched solar systems collide; he had seen whole galaxies burn, and he had even made it happen. He had changed so many people's lives, and he had seen so many people die. He remembered them; all of them. He could never forget. He would never let himself forget. But there was one thing that he desperately wished to wipe from his mind's eye, and it was the thing that came back to plague his thoughts the most: The Time War. The Last Great Time War.

He could see it; all of it, burning. He could feel it tearing him apart. He watched all of them, two of the mightiest races in all of creation, destroyed. Trapped in a never ending war that endangered all of time and space; the most brutal, horrific war that anyone had ever seen. And he had been there. He had fought. He had earned his title: The Destroyer of Worlds. And he survived. He was the only one who had survived; he himself made painfully sure of that. Or so he thought. But even in that he had failed.

Unbearable agony washed over his body in waves; a nauseous sea of numbing yet piercing pain. His body was broken and barely holding on. He did not want to hold on. He wanted to let go, to let it stop. To sleep: To end the heartache and the thousand natural shocks that flesh is heir to. He had had enough of this world. Now that he was unable to regenerate he found himself staring in the face of true death itself. And yet he was unafraid. On the contrary, death seemed like a more inviting notion than it ever had before: A consummation devoutly to be wished. As he hung half dead and fully useless in his chains, he came ever closer to breathing his last.

But even now in his barely conscious state he could feel it: The Archangel network. He could hear them crying out. The entire world, suppressed by fear and terror, was crying out for a savior. They needed him. He could feel it. He knew it was true. He tried to focus whatever part of him was left alive on that thought, linking his entire being to their cause. He needed them, because they needed him. He was more than useless and, contrary to the Master's belief, so were they.

The Master had sought to destroy the Doctor's power entirely by taking away yet another aspect of his Time Lord ability; that of regeneration. But in the end, it had only made him stronger. Paradoxically enough the Doctor's suffering only brought him closer to his goal; total integration with the archangel network, and thus complete immersion into the telepathic power of the human race. In his suffering he reached out to the only thing he had left, forming a bond of unparalleled strength that could not have been forged without suffering, anguish, and despair. The Master had done just as he had threatened: He made the Doctor more human. What neither of them knew was that it was exactly what the Doctor needed to fully achieve his goal.

Not even the Doctor knew the power of his bond with the network and the human race; nothing like it had ever occurred before. He hoped and prayed that Martha's plan would work – the last straw to tip the scales and overturn all that the Master had done. Desperate and in chains, the Doctor's focus was fully on the human race. And when their focus turned fully to him, he could not even begin to imagine what might take place – what a powerful force might be created. He had always known that humans were far more than what they saw in themselves: But he never thought he might experience it like this and put them to the ultimate test. They were his people, his planet, and his home. And he was their champion. He had to save them. The human race had always been the most resilient and persistent creatures that the Doctor had ever seen. Now it was his turn to be resilient and persistent for them. And they would help him along the way.

Very little of this rose as conscious thought in the Doctor's mind. But what did penetrate the debilitating pain and the darkness of his dreams was one desperate, audacious thought. It was far more than a thought; it was a certainty, and a promise, and a lifeline: A shining beacon that refused to be quenched or put out. It was the one thing that any who saw him would have least expected: A cold and broken cry of hope. Hope that one day all would be made right again. Hope that this was not the end. Hope in all that was good and right in the world; in self-sacrifice and forgiveness and perseverance and strength and honor and beauty and love. Of all the things that meant the most in the world, all the things that the human race had taught him to cherish, and all the things that the Time Lords forsook in their lasts days: All the things that the Master despised and all the things that could save him. The human race would not be defeated, and neither would their Doctor.

All of this realization washed over the Doctor in a strangely numb blur. He could not put it into words, but he did not have to. He poured all of his effort into breathing in and out, as feeble of an attempt as it may be, and not letting himself slip away, despite how much he longed for it. He still was not fully conscious when at last a loud voice broke into his thoughts and he was dragged into reality once more.

"Tomorrow they launch." The Master's confident voice came crashing into the Doctor's quiet world of near-unconscious rest. He took in a sharp breath of recognition as his mind became aware, as if for the first time, that there was still a real world left out beyond his pain-filled slumber. He could not open his eyes or move at all. His entire body was numb. He barely registered the Master's words, but the Time Lord continued.

"We're opening up a rift in the Braccitolian Space." The Doctor could hear the Master stepping closer. He heard the footsteps stop before him. "Won't see us coming." The Master informed him calmly, as if his captive were alert and aware and not completely incapacitated and nearly dead. "Kinda scary." He tacked on with an obvious smile of mock-fright.

The Doctor struggled with all his might to regain some control over his ruined body. His breathing became heavier and his mouth trembled open for a moment before he somehow forced himself to grind out two barely-coherent words.

"Then… Stop…" He begged, surprised to hear his own voice. It sounded much stronger than he felt.

"Once the Empire is established and there's a new Gallifrey in the heavens, maybe then it stops." The Master answered flatly, as if there were no other choice. He looked on in slight amusement as the Doctor sagged lower – if that were possible – in his bonds, his futile begging reaching its final defeat. The Doctor did not understand, he thought. This was what he was made for. This was his destiny. The drums testified to and called for this day. He took a few steps closer, carefully looking over the extensive wounds still lacerating the Doctor's flesh.

Standing close before him now, the Master took a handful of the Doctor's greatly disheveled hair. He lifted the Doctor's face up, and for the first time since his terrible punishment, the Doctor slowly opened his eyes. For a tense moment they simply stared at each other, both wondering how the other had come to choose the terrible path that led them to where they now stood. The Doctor looked for any sign of regret and found none. The Master looked for any possibility that the Doctor, the last other Time Lord, might understand him. He swallowed hard.

"The drumming." He whispered sharply. "The never-ending drum beat." The Doctor saw a flash of pain pass over the Master's eyes. "Ever since I was a child I looked into the vortex – that's when it chose me. The drumming: The call to war." He said quietly. The Doctor did not respond, but his eye contact with the Master remained, reflecting the deepest and truest form of sympathy. The Master truly was insane, he knew. And it saddened him. But it did not have to come to this.

"Can't you hear it?" The Master continued, his face contorting as if he had a terrible headache. "Listen it's there now, right now!" The Master insisted. His tone was one of true fright. The Doctor listened, daring to hope that he might hear them. But he heard nothing.

"Tell me you can hear it, Doctor." The Master said quietly, somewhere between a beg and a demand. "Tell me." He whispered, still holding the Doctor's head up and leaning close to speak so that only he could hear.

The Doctor swallowed as best he could, his sad eyes never leaving those of his captor. He wanted more than anything to offer his help once more. If only the Master would listen. But he knew he would not. It would only make him angry. So instead he told him the simple yet brutal truth. "It's only you." He forced the words out. They held ho spite, only deep heartfelt sadness and a twinge of fear. The Master had been so great. How had he fallen so far?

The Master straightened up and moved his gaze as the words hit him. They were all that he expected to hear, but some part of him had held out just enough hope to ask. "Good." He said flatly. It was good. He was the only one. Called by fate to become the Master of the world. If the Doctor did not want any part of that, so be it.

Both of the Time Lord's attention was immediately drawn away as the door behind the Master opened and one of the evil spheres of the Toclafane entered. "Tomorrow the war." It said in a strong and all-too-human voice. The voice sounded barely older than that of a child. But its words held the darkest evil and malice that they could. "Tomorrow we rise never to fall!" It boasted.

"You see!" The Master backed away and gestured towards his 'child'. "I'm doing it for them!" He shouted to the Doctor. "You should be grateful!" He chided. "After all, you_ loved_ them…So very very much."

The Doctor's head rocked back against his shoulders where the Master had left him, his eyes barely staying open enough to see the Toclafane. He sighed as best he could. No matter how long it had been, he still felt some part of his heart break every time he thought about the Toclafane. The tortured souls captured in each of the hellish spheres. Their voices haunted his dreams; their evil laughter and their torturous touch. He had no more tears to shed for them. He had spent them all. He did his best to ignore the Master's jab, looking away from the Time Lord and his ghastly 'human' friend. His eyes stopped on the only true human he could see.

Lucy Saxon stood in the corner by the door, watching them. She hugged herself slightly as if to ward off a chill, but the room was warm and she was wearing a lot-cut thin-strapped dress, the brightest shade of fiery red. Her hair was done up nicely, and she had on her make up. But he could see beneath the powder and cream there still lay a dark bruise under her eye, doubtless from her husband's hand. He did not wish to know how many other scars and marks she hid. Her eyes were empty; completely void of emotion. She watched the whole world and felt nothing. Her very soul seemed numb and hollow, and her eyes focused on nothing at all. A surge of pity filled the Doctor's hearts as he saw her. He himself was chained and enduring excruciating pain, but she was the one truly suffering. His eyes locked onto her and he watched her. She stared in the direction of her husband but did not seem to fully see him. At last she glanced back to the Doctor, and for one brief moment she held his gaze.

"Why?" He whispered softly, staring as if into her very soul. But there was practically nothing left for him to find. Her mouth fell open as if to answer, but no sound escaped it. She turned slowly towards her husband as if looking for answers. The question was meant for her, but she had no reply.

The Master looked between them and finally let out a laugh. The Doctor's accusing eyes darted to him as he crashed, amused, into one of the black chairs surrounding the conference table. He leaned back and relaxed. He could sense the anger that rose in the Doctor's hearts at his dismissal of Lucy. But he did not care.

"I took Lucy to Utopia." He told the Doctor. His captive took in a breath of dismay. He had feared that had been the case. "A Time Lord and his human companion." The Master continued his mockery with a smile. The Doctor closed his eyes and swallowed hard, trying to remind himself that this was not his doing and not his fault. But some part of him screamed that it was. "I took her to see the stars. Isn't that right, sweetheart?" He turned for the first time towards his wife. Lucy looked somehow vaguely pleased yet frightened as she at last received his attention, but responded as a puppet or one who had been trained.

"Trillions of years into the future, to the end of the universe…" She said in a far off voice, lacking all confidence and conviction that a normal human being might have possessed.

"Tell him what you saw." The Master said, helping her along. His eyes were fixed on the Doctor as she continued.

"Dying." She said, her voice just as dead as the word she spoke, and the Doctor opened his eyes to look sadly back at her once more. "Everything dying. The whole of creation was falling apart and I thought, 'there's no point." She looked blankly into the Doctor's eyes, and he found that the death she spoke of had indeed overtaken her soul. "No point to anything. Not ever'…" She went on.

"…And it's all your fault." The Master smiled and finished Lucy's sentence with his last damning accusation.

The Doctor tried to deny it. He may have been the one that locked the coordinates, but this was the Master's doing. He looked into Lucy's eyes and saw a heart absolutely void of hope, trapped in a slow and painful death of absolute helplessness and apathy. He wanted nothing more than to weep for her and to comfort her and to tell her that yes, there was a point. The stories that make up life do have some reason behind their madness, and there is good left in the world that is worth fighting for. But the Master had poisoned her with his words and banished her sanity along with his own.

The Master stood and took Lucy by the arm. She turned to him willingly, but as if walking through a dream with no hope of ever seeing reality again. The Master stopped to face the Doctor, looking over his miserable and defeated form once more. "'Night then." He said with a smile, turning away and wrapping his arm around his wife's back as they headed out the door. She leaned against him and rubbed his shoulder, and his hand drifted lower as the turned the corner. The Toclafane followed them out and the Doctor was left alone once more.

His head fell forward to rest against his barely moving chest once more, his breaths coming in slow, shallow struggles, few and far between. As all the Master's words rang in his head he realized that it might be his very last night alive. He did not think the Master would kill him, but there was no telling what kind of danger the planet might be in if he really did launch an intergalactic war.

Tomorrow came the countdown. Tomorrow came his last stand. Tomorrow they would find out if it had all been worth it. Tomorrow they would discover if there was any hope left at all.

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><p>So I may have been watching a bit too much Hamlet when I wrote this... I love Shakespeare. And David Tennant really is one of the most amazing actor I have ever seen. I regret nothing.<p>

(For those who do not know, the lines "To sleep: To end the heartache and the thousand natural shocks that flesh is heir to." And "A consummation devoutly to be wished." Are from Shakespeare's Hamlet. I looooooooooove Hamlet's soliloquy. And I think the Doctor might too. I couldn't help putting that reference in there... no this has nothing to do with the fact that David Tennant played Hamlet... ok, so it does.)


	25. Chapter 25

I do apologize for this miniscule chapter. Do know that the next chapter - the LAST official chapter - is very long indeed. So this story will reach "The End" by the end of this week! Whether this is happy or sad I have not yet decided. I have written an epilogue, though, so I'll be porting the REAL final part next week at (about) this time. Speaking of which, before anyone accuses me on posting on Thursday AGAIN, I'll have you know that it just turned midnight, Friday here in GMT-6. Thank you all again SO MUCH for reading! - When I'm done here I shall (God willing) post another shorter (4 chapters) Doctor/Rose fic. It is the most episode-like thing I've ever written and is, dare I say it, close-ish to a thriller. Or my version of close-ish. But it has not yet been dubbed with a proper title! - Anyway, Stay tuned!

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><p>A weak moan escaped the Doctor's lips as a hand came to rest on his shoulder. His weary mind rebelled against the touch. He did not want to wake up. He did not want to wake up ever again. Even if it was Tish and even if she had food, he would rather stay locked in this semi-unconscious state. Because at least then he could not feel the sorrow and he could not feel the pain. He could pretend that it was all a dream. But his dream was quickly crashing into reality as his senses re-awoke against his will.<p>

He felt the hand shake him slightly and he groaned again, this time in pain. "_Nnuuugg… Tiiish…_" The Doctor moaned as he struggled to open his eyes and look up to the woman who had woken him. He tried to tell himself that she was only trying to help. But when his eyes finally saw the figure before him he took in a quick gasp of shock.

The Master stood in front of him, grasping him by the shoulders. He wore his night robe and slippers and his hair was a mess. His smile was wide and his eyes playful and manic. The Doctor looked up to him and swallowed hard.

"Guess what." The Master said with true excitement in his voice, his eyes growing even wider along with his grin.

The Doctor could not answer. He found himself practically holding his breath in the long moment as the Master let his command hang unanswered in the air. The Doctor had no idea what might have happened or what might come next, but whatever it was, it frightened him.

"We found her." The Master said eagerly. The Doctor's eyes widened in fear, and the Master laughed aloud. "We found your precious Martha Jones." He smiled. "Great timing too, she's the perfect addition to me little celebration in the morning." He added, as if planning a Christmas party or something of the sort.

"Leave her alone." The Doctor ground out through his teeth. The Master grabbed his chin and lifted his face up. Slumped in his bonds, the Doctor was suspended on his knees and had no strength to rise, nor to resist.

"Oh, don't you want to see her, Doctor?" The Master asked in mock-pity. "I'm sure she's dying to show you what she's found - scattered across the earth." He said smugly. The Doctor tried not to let confusion pass before his eyes. "That's right, I know about your little plot." The Master told him threateningly. This time real fear rose in the Doctor's hearts; if the Master knew about Martha's mission than all was lost.

"I know about your little _gun_." The Master gloated.

True confusion flashed for an instant before the Doctor's eyes, but his injured face displayed little emotion besides miserable defeat.

"I should have known Torchwood would have thought up something like that." The Master continued to scoff.

The Doctor's interest was piqued now, and he knew that he must play along with whatever plan had been put into place. He had to act like he knew what the Master was talking about, and above all he had to act like the Master had just un-done his ultimate plan and only hope.

"But it doesn't matter now, because soon both Martha and the gun will be mine." The Master boasted. "Two birds with one stone really: The Doctor's companion _and_ the earth's only weapon against Time Lords" He smiled largely.

As his captor spoke realization dawned in the Doctor's mind. _'Oh Martha Jones you are Brilliant!_' he thought. If he was any less injured he would have had to fight to keep from smiling. There was no way that Martha would be found at the exact right time and with a story like that other than if she had intended for it. And if she intended to re-join them aboard the Valiant, that could only mean one thing. She had done it. The message was out; the world knew.

"And you know what the best part is?" The Master continued, but the Doctor was paying him far less attention than he thought. "I won't even have to take her by force." He smiled down at his captive. "Martha Jones will come to me." He said. "Because her dear Doctor is defeated, but you've trained her so well… She won't let others die for her, no matter how many already have." He laughed lightly before quickly returning to his serious tone once more. "And you, Doctor?" He forced his captive's chin even higher up and summoned eye contact with the beaten man. He wanted to see every aspect and emotion of the Doctor's defeat. He wanted to watch the light drain slowly from his eyes. "Martha Jones will die for you." He said firmly.

Tense silence hung between them for a moment. The Master stood smiling still, looking through the Doctor's eyes and deep into his broken soul. At last he broke the silence, before turning away. "See you in the morning."


	26. Chapter 26

A/N: The end is nigh. Here cometh the dawn.

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><p>"<em>Citizens of Earth, rejoice and observe!"<em>

It was time. As the sun rose above the horizon the earth stood ready for war. The Valiant doors opened and in stepped the guest of honor: Martha Jones. The Doctor raised his weary eyes to see her as she slowly made her way forward prodded on by the guards. She was dressed completely in black. Practical, warm clothes that made her look like exactly what she was: A Renegade. A fighter. A survivor. She was a war-hardened veteran and a world-weary soul. The Doctor realized in a flash what she had become: Him. She had become him from the end of the Time War. Or at least some reflection of that leather-coated man, though she had never met him.

As Martha walked forward she looked sadly at all who had been gathered on deck to witness her execution. She looked to each of her family members in turn. Her mother, father, and sister. What tortures had they suffered while she roamed the earth? She looked to Jack. His clothing was full of holes and stained with dirt and blood, the likes of which was also caked onto his face and in his hair. She did not want to imagine how many times the man had died in the past year.

At last her eyes came to rest upon the Doctor, and her mouth fell open slightly in shock. She had witnessed the Master's terrible abuse through the transmission, but seeing it now was a different matter entirely. The Doctor did his best to stand strongly in his bonds, albeit on his knees with his arms still held out in their chains. His entire being seemed consumed by suffering just as his clothing was drenched in blood. He had not healed at all since the day he received his grievous wounds, and his right eye still refused to open properly. But as he raised his gaze to meet hers she saw a different story. His eyes searched hers for any glimmer of hope, and Martha did her best to silently confirm it to him. She had to stop herself from nodding to the Doctor or running to his side or shouting their secret aloud. As she saw him hanging helpless and in the depths of despair she wanted nothing more than to comfort him and tell him that it would all be alright; she had done as he asked.

As the Doctor looked into Martha's eyes her hope was reflected in his own strengthened gaze, and as Martha turned to stand before the Master at last he sent her the slighted nod that he could manage. He wanted to shout with joy and hug her and thank her and tell her how sorry he was. But he remained still and silent as Martha turned to stand before the Master at last.

"Your teleport device." The Master addressed her with an authoritative tone, holding out his hand from the top of the stairs. "In case you'd thought I'd forgotten."

Martha begrudgingly reached into one of her many pockets and drew out Jack's vortex manipulator. She tossed it to the Master looking for all the world like she had just discarded her last hope that she might live to see another day.

"And now…" The Master's voice was deep and commanding "Kneel." He ordered, pointing at the ground below his feet. Martha obeyed, lowering herself down to one knee and then two. Not far off the Doctor knelt in his chains watching her in earnest sympathy as if by staring hard enough towards her he might somehow give to her whatever strength he had left.

"Down below the fleet is ready to launch." The Master proudly proclaimed to his audience. "Two hundred thousand ships set to burn across the universe." He said with a sick excitement and a sociopath smile. He stepped back and pressed one of the Valiant radio control buttons, addressing the main launching station on the world below. "Are we ready?"

The ominous response came in a strict yet somehow sickly celebratory tone: "_The fleet awaits your signal. Rejoice!"_

The Master smiled and looked to his watch. "Three minutes to align the black hole converters." He said, pressing another button on the Valliant's controls. "Counting down!" All of the television displays and clocks changed to show a timer set for three minutes and counting. Martha swallowed hard. The Doctor had been right. The Master smiled and did not see her reaction. "I never could resist a ticking clock." He laughed at himself, and then shouted towards the sky, "My children, are you ready?"

No Toclafane stood in the room with them, they had all gathered in ranks to prepare for war. But still their cry could be heard.

"We will fly and blaze and slice!" They chanted. The Doctor's hearts seemed to break a little more every time he heard their murderous, childlike voiced. "We will fly and blaze and slice!"

The Master stepped forward to address his audience again. "At zero, to mark this day, the child Martha Jones will die." He proclaimed. Worry was etched on every face in the room save for his own. He smiled and nearly laughed with excitement. "The first blood of my war." He grinned, as if the others should praise him for this great accomplishment. None did. He laughed with himself again and addressed his victim. "Any last words?"

Martha stayed silent but stared the Master in the eye, envisioning his eminent fall.

"No?" The Master teased with a belittling shrug. "Such a disappointment this one." He said in what seemed like honest disappointment. "In the days of old, Doctor, you had companions who could absorb the time vortex." He mocked as he took one step down the stairs so that he could see his oldest friend and foe more clearly. "This one's useless." The Master raised his laser screwdriver and aimed is squarely at Martha's heart. "Bow your head." He ordered.

Martha closed her eyes and obeyed, waiting in tense suspense as he continued.

"And so it falls to me as Master of All to establish from this day a new order of Time Lords!" The Master proudly proclaimed, as if composing the final installment to the mock-biblical epic of his own conquests. His great plans were finally being achieved. "From this day forwards-" He yelled, but then he stopped. He heard something. It was Martha. She was doing something that he literally could not believe. She was laughing. "Wha-?" He stumbled as she interrupted his speech. "…What's so funny?" He asked indignantly as he lowered in laser screwdriver in utter annoyance.

Martha raised her head to look the Master in the eye. His brow knotted at the lack of fear within he eyes. "A gun?" She asked in a bewildered tone.

"What about it?" The Master snapped back.

"A gun in four parts?" Martha continued in her tone of disbelief.

"Yes." The Master practically shouted at her foolish impertinence. "And I destroyed it!"

"A gun in four parts scattered across the world?" Martha asked again. "I mean come on…" He toned changed to one that seemed to pity the Master's ignorance. "Did you really believe that?" She asked.

The Master was growing tired of this mockery. "What do you mean?" He tried to laugh and act as if it was she that did not know what she was talking about.

"As if I would ask her to kill." The Doctor's hoarse, tired voice interrupted them as he looked weakly up from his bonds and stared the Master in the eye.

"Oh well it doesn't matter!" The Master defended quickly. "I've got her exactly where I want her." He pointed out proudly, raising his laser device towards Martha once more.

"But I knew what Professor Docherty would do. The resistance knew about her son." Martha asserted. The Doctor did not know the details of her time away, but Martha continued her story. "I told her about the gun so she'd get me here…" Martha boasted and added "At the right time." She dared to smile.

The Master shook his head and tried to laugh off her presumptuous tone. "But you're still gonna die!" He pointed out, growing frustrated with all of this idle talk.

"Don't you want to know what I was doing, traveling the world?" Martha asked calmly.

The Master laughed and shrugged in a way that made it clear that he did not care what she had been doing. "Tell me." He said sarcastically, taking a dramatic seat to listen to the annoyingly long tale that must follow.

"I told a story, that's all." Martha said, her voice growing in strength with every word. "No weapons, just words!" She proclaimed. The Master raised an unimpressed eyebrow. "I did just what the Doctor said: I went across the continents all on my own." Martha's voice reflected her suffering, but also the hope that her suffering had brought. "And everywhere I went I found the people and I told them my story. I told them about the Doctor. And I told them to pass it on. To spread the word so that everyone would know about the Doctor!" She said proudly as the clock continued to count down.

The Master could barely stop himself from laughing. "Faith and hope? Is that all?" He asked in mock concern, but a strange fear was slowly rising behind his eyes.

"No." Martha asserted strongly and bravely stood to her feet. " 'Cause I gave them an instruction. Just as the Doctor said. I told them that if everyone thinks of one word at one specific time…"

"Nothing will happen!" The Master shouted in defiance, standing to his feet and towering over her. "Is that your weapon?" He mocked, "_Prayer_?"

"Right across the world, one word," Martha insisted. Perhaps it was just prayer, but perhaps prayer was just enough. "Just one thought at one moment…" She said again with a smile, and then finally revealed the fullness of their plan "But with fifteen satellites!" She said.

Shock registered in the Master's gaze "What?" He said darkly, slight horror rising in his eyes.

"The Archangel network." Jack Harkness said from the back of the room. The Master's brow knotted as he realized that they had all been planning this from the beginning.

"A telepathic field!" Martha reminded him excitedly, "Binding the whole human race together. With all of them, every single person on earth thinking the same thing at the same time." She watched the worry grow in the Master's gaze as the last few second of his countdown ticked away. "And that word is 'Doctor'!"

The timer hit zero, but the missiles never launched. With one simple word, the world was overturned. The Doctor could hear them, calling his name. Calling for a savior, they cried out in the one thing that he had given them: Hope. He could feel them, all at once. Their presence surged into his mind. "Doctor!" They cried, "Doctor!" The Master was their lord no more – his power had been thrown off by a planet full of stupid, pathetic, brilliant, marvelous beings. The Human Race. Their power rushed through the Doctor's mind, filling his entire being. He gasped as the pure, unspoiled potential of the entire race flooded him, body and soul. He stretched his broken limbs and found them full of strength once more – more strength than he had ever known. He closed his eyes, and he could feel their power coursing through his veins as these pathetic little creatures rose to greater heights than the Time Lords ever had.

Homo Sapiens, a species that were not even consciously telepathic, had discovered their true potential at last. Through the binding of the archangel network, every single one of them fought to end the reign of terror that the Master had put in place. The Doctor was their vessel; their champion. His telepathic mind channeled the power they freely gave them, and he ascended to the head of the Archangel Network, taking on all of the power the Master had stolen from them and so much more.

"Stop it!" he could hear the Master's voice crying. "No!" The other Time Lord struggled to remain in control, but he knew that all was lost. "No no-no-no-no-no no you don't!" He tried to order, but the Doctor did not respond.

Bright, white light filled the room as the pure energy that surged from the Doctor engulfed him.

"Doctor. Doctor!" The world cried. Jack and Tish and Francine and Clive joined in chanting, "Doctor!"

"Stop this right now." The Master turned fear-filled eyes to where the Doctor knelt unbound with his hands raised, gaining strength with every rapturous breath. "STOP IT!" He yelled.

"Doctor." Martha repeated, seeming almost to hold her breath as she watched her suffering pay off. At the top of the stairs Lucy closed her eyes and whispered, "Doctor…Doctor."

The Doctor opened his eyes at last. His wounds were healed, his bonds broken. He fixed his eyes on the Master. Sheer dread shone in the other Time Lord's eyes as the Doctor slowly stood to his feet at last.

"I've had a whole year to tune myself in to the psychic network and integrate with its matrices." The Doctor said calmly, his voice epitome of strength. He pushed himself up from his knees and stood firmly in place as the power of the human race continued to flow through him, growing stronger and stronger each time they called his name.

"I order you to stop!" The Master rounded on him, looking frantically around the room to find all of his guards had at last committed their act of treason. He alone stood not calling the Doctor's name.

"The one thing you can't do: Stop them thinking." A determined yet grim smile rose on the Doctor's face as he seemed himself to finally realize that his plan had worked, that he had won. "Tell me the human race is degenerate now!" He yelled in triumph, "When they can do this." He looked down at the pure energy that flowed around him, mending his beaten body and broken soul. It thrilled and shocked like ever-constant lightening, burning like an all-consuming fire, cooling like ice upon his burnt-out soul. It felt as if a mighty waterfall of overwhelming, vibrant life flowed though him, swelling with every heartbeat, flowing with the indomitable force that was mankind.

"No!" The Master called desperately, raising his last defense in bitter defiance. He turned his laser up to its highest capacity and shot a bolt of deadly fire towards the Doctor. It bounced harmlessly away, repelled by the force that surrounded him.

"I'm sorry." The Doctor said quietly as he took a step up the stairs. "I'm so sorry." He took another step towards the Master, who panicked in earnest now.

"Then I'll kill them!" He shouted, raising his screwdriver towards Martha. The Doctor put forth his hand, and the device was ripped from the Master's grasp to lay useless on the floor. There was nothing he could do to resist. The Master had created this network, binding the world together. He had underestimated them, and it would be his undoing. "You can't do this!" He shouted as he watched his kingdom fall apart. "You can't do it – it's not fair!" He cried.

"And you know what happens now." The Doctor answered. As he reached the top of the stairs the Master stumbled down the flight behind him. True, heartfelt pity filled the Doctor's eyes.

"No, no!" The Master stumbled back, trying to wave the Doctor off as if he was a bad dream. "NO!" he shouted in desperation.

"You wouldn't listen." The Doctor said firmly, as a parent scolding a child. He had tried so hard; tried everything to make the Master see. But he was blinded by power and rage. Now he cowered back in the corner as he saw what true power was.

"NO!" The Master shouted again, as is his last vestige of denial might have any affect at all.

"'Cause you know what I'm gonna say." The Doctor continued. The moment had come. No matter strong the human race was, the Doctor knew that only one thing could truly defeat the evil that the Master had spawned. No matter the psychic power that flowed through him, only one power could end this in the way that it should. And deep down, the Master knew exactly what it was. The one power that the Doctor possessed that he did not. His greatest fear: his ultimate undoing, the one thing that he could never, ever overpower or defeat. Three words. Three words with the power to perfectly restore or utterly destroy a soul. They were words that were the foundation of everything for which the Doctor stood and everything that the Master despised. It was faith, and hope, and love.

"No…" The Master whispered one last time. As the Doctor reached the bottom of the stairs, he covered his head, falling to his knees and trembling in frantic, debilitating abhorrence and fear. His entire world was being ripped away: turned upside down in the flash of an eye. This could not be happening. He had won! At long last he had won. He was the Master. He could not be overpowered, he would not be outdone. But now he was unable to even stand against his enemy's rage: not because he had no strength, but because his enemy had no rage. All sense of worldly reason was abandon as his foe returned his evil with good.

As the Doctor came at last to the Master's side, the brilliant light died away. The time for visible power was over, it was time to end the Master's game. As he saw the man trembling before him, the Doctor knelt by his side, placing his arms gently around the Master's terrified form. As the Doctor pulled him close, the memory of the past year flashed through his mind's eye. He could still feel it; all of the pain and despair. He could feel the terror of the entire human race, and all of the misery that the Master had caused. Even now in his submissive state, the Doctor knew that no true remorse lay within the Master's hearts. But that did not matter. None of the torture or the arrogance or the evil could stand against him now. Nothing the Master had done would stop him.

The Master closed his eyes as if he could deny what he knew the Doctor would say. He sat in terrible anticipation for one lifetime of a moment. He knew what was coming. And once the words were uttered, he would be finished. He could speak no more. No argument or show of force could ever nullify what the Doctor had done. Power, the Master's only lifeline, had abandoned him. There was nothing left but to surrender, the one thing that he could never do.

The Doctor had not aimed to beat him but to heal his soul. It was up to the Master to accept that. Both of them knew that he never, ever would. But the Doctor had done his utmost, and truly meant every word.

The Doctor pulled his oldest enemy close; embracing the most vile, depraved villain that the world had ever known. With true heartfelt meaning he calmly and without regret whispered into his ear the three most powerful words in the universe:

"I forgive you."

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><p>THE END.<p>

_Well..._ Sort of. I suppose I should explain. This is the end of the Year that Might Have Been aka The Year that Never Was. From this moment forward, the story continues just as it did in RTD's episode "The Last of the Time Lords": I trust you all know what happens next, and as such I did not feel like writing it all out for you. I shall leave it to more capable hands to describe to you the Master's death. HOWEVER, I have written an Epilogue for closure's sake, and you shall receive it - if you care - at the normal time on Friday. (unless my discipline crumbles before then)

I'd just like to take this moment to say thank you SO MUCH to all of my readers and reviewers - you have no idea how happy you have all made me! I have been so, so blessed by your words of encouragement - even when you claimed to hate me :). I have even been able to connect with some of you over PM and have made some real friends. So thank you, again. The next, last, chapter is for you.


	27. Epilogue

A/N: So... Here it is. The final, final part. Today I push the "complete" button on the story summary. I would just like to take this final moment to thank you all again SO MUCH, and also to dedicate this epilogue (and this entire story!) to all of you: To you who have stuck with the Doctor until the very end. Thank you SO MUCH for reading and reviewing. It's been truly fantastic to hear from you all. I hope you have enjoyed the ride, as I certainly have. This last chapter is the only part of this story that was NOT written beforehand, and it is very much a response to all of the amazing reviews I have received. There is one part of this chapter in particular that I did NOT think of when I began to write, and you should all thank criminalxxxmindsxxxfreak for it (It's the dialogue-heavy part of this chapter, I think you'll like it). But know that you all have had a true voice in this story - you are what made it come to life, especially for me. Also, personal shout-out to PhoenixWormwood137, who has become a true friend to me through this story and her reviews, and of course to my dear friend Lindelas, without whom NONE of this story would have EVER been written. I thank God for all of you, and hope that I have in some way honored Him in writing and sharing this. It's time for me to shut up now. I's been an honor! THANK YOU SO MUCH!

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><p>It was over. It was all over. To the rest of the world it had never even occurred. But it happened. It was real. The Doctor, perhaps better than anyone, knew that. But it was over now. It was past. After all of the pain and suffering and torture – though despair and fear and hell itself – he still could barely believe that it was over.<p>

The Master was gone – dead. He did not like to think about it. Even after everything that the Master had done – to him, to his friends, and to the world, in the end he had still held out some glimmer of deranged hope: A fool's hope, he knew, that the Master himself might still be saved. But it was all over now. The Master had chosen pride and power for the last time. Even after the Doctor honestly forgave him, he still would not accept life over death.

The Doctor's grief, although seemingly beyond comprehension to the others aboard, was respected. No one disturbed his mourning as the airship pilots brought the Valiant down to earth, and he carried the Master's body unimpeded off of the ship.

He had burnt the body; the closest earth equivalent to a Gallifreyan burial. And then he had left it all behind. It was an art he was well versed in, and as such he knew that it did not get any easier time after time. He had left so many behind; so many people, so many memories. And now the Time Lords. Again. He was the last. The only one left. He had to push on. He had to keep living. He tried to share in the joy that the others from the Valiant felt as they, too, realized that the horror had come to an end.

When he came back to look for Martha and Jack he found them still surrounded by the other members of the Valiant crew: The survivors. The only ones that would ever know. They held a special bond now and forever, this miss-matched group of guards and servants, all equal in their captivity and their regret and their new-found relief. He found them all gathered together now in a large room, though he did not know how, all swapping stories and introducing themselves to each other in earnest for the first time after a year of fear and terror and loneliness. There had been debriefings and meetings of all sorts as world governments and Torchwood tried to figure out what had happened – or perhaps not happened at all – aboard the Valiant. Now it was time to go home. But a small celebration was to come first.

As the Doctor opened the door the whole room burst into applause. Leticia Jones was the first to fling her arms about his neck and thank heaven for him; that he was alive and that he had saved them. Martha and Jack soon joined the group embrace, surrounding the Doctor fully in what he had been missing for so long: Love.

As the pure emotion of this reception washed over the Doctor, he found himself smiling for the first time since he could remember. He had just lost the very last remnant of his own kind, but he was reminded again that he still had a family and he still had a home. He was enveloped warmly into the crowd, receiving pats on the back and hands to shake and hugs and cheers all around. He was assured by each of them that they owed him their lives, and that they were astounded by his strength through the most terrible horror that the world had ever faced. But that was not what he cared about: He cared not that they were grateful, but that they were alive. To see each face smile freely; the same faces that he had seen downcast and hopeless for so long, was a blessing in and of itself.

And then he saw a face that he thought never to have seen again, even after erasing the entire year.

"Charlie!" He exclaimed in greeting, truly surprised. Charlie had died at the eye of the storm, so to speak. His death, just like the other events aboard the Valiant, should not have been re-wound, as it were. But here he stood.

"Doctor!" Charlie pushed himself to his feet and at once enveloped the Doctor in a strong embrace.

"Haha! You're alive!" The Doctor laughed as he hugged Charlie back, despite being rather crushed.

"Charles McCrimmon, at your service!" Charlie said proudly with a smile as he released the Doctor.

The Doctor still scratched his head and knotted his brow. "B-But… you died." He tried to inform the man.

"I know. It was sort of… weird. I remember dying, sort of, and then just kinda of… being awake again." He puzzled, but it did not seem to bother him.

"I know how that feels." Captain Jack Harkness came and slapped a hand on Charlie's shoulder with a laugh. He handed Charlie a celebratory bottle of beer and took a swig of his own; it had been far too long.

"Actually, I woke up just outside that blue box." Charlie said as he took a drink. "The Paradox Machine."

"The TARDIS." The Doctor corrected him, glad that she was a Paradox Machine no more. However he now supposed that this was the Paradox Machine's final act: contradicting what seemed to be the rules of its own operation as the horrid system finally crumbled. The machine intended for war had erased it, bringing life; just as the TARDIS always did. He could tell, somehow, that this was different than last time: different than the Bad Wolf. Charlie was whole and fully human, fully brilliantly human. His TARDIS continued to amaze him. The Doctor smiled once more. He could not seem to stop.

"I'm sorry, Charlie. And thank you. You are one of the bravest men I know." The Doctor told him honestly.

"Not compared to you, Doctor." Charlie assured him. "But thank you – thank you for showing me that I can be brave, and allowing me to be. You lead by example, you know. And sacrifice is a lesson you teach well. I'm sorry for that." He said, his accent as thick as ever. "But just like Jack said, Doctor – It was worth it."

The Doctor spent the rest of the evening celebrating life, telling everyone again that it was they, the human race, that had defeated the Master, not him. He told them all the heroic tale of Martha Jones, and smiled to see the Jones family reunited once more. They were more united than they had ever been. And even if most of them had forgotten it, so was the human race. As he watched them the Doctor realized the truth of Charlie's words: It was worth it. After all of the adversity they had faced, maybe it was worth it in the end. He could see it on their faces: The wonder, the joy, the brotherhood. They had come through fire, and they were stronger for it.

The human race: They were, he realized, Valiant. They were stalwart survivors who found and delighted in the real value of the good things in life: Of friendship and freedom and love and beauty; of happy endings and sacrifice and second chances and honor, and above all of faith, hope, and love. They were his family now. They were his reason for living. He had saved them, but now they took their turn in giving the Doctor what he needed most after losing the last of Gallifrey: Faith that he had done what was right, hope for a better tomorrow, and love to sustain him along the way.

Only a handful of people would ever know; only a handful of people would ever thank him, but that was alright. He did not mind. Simply being with them, safe and unharmed, was reward enough. He was their Doctor, and that was all that mattered now.

He went back to the TARDIS and lovingly freed her from the broken remnants of the Paradox Machine that had held her captive. In the next few days the valiant group dwindled as each member found their way home; back to their beloved and bewildered families. Each wept unashamedly in joy to find their families alive, and each promised to forever tell their children and children's children of the real-life heroes they had found: The Doctor and Martha Jones. He thanked them kindly and told them that each of them were just as brave and strong as he, but all the same it gladdened his heart. Finally Jack and Martha were the only ones still with him. And then Jack and Martha had left as well.

It was all over now, Jack had said it: The Year that Never Was. Although he would never forget it, it was time to move on. There had been a time to fight, a time to forgive, and a time to mourn. Now was the time to live.

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><p>My next story is a shorter one (four chapters) that I shall, God willing, begin posting next week. It is entitled "Whatever Happens" (NOTE that this is a change from the original title "Nerves"), and is a DoctorRose short-episode-like action-y fic! Stay tuned.


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